Lengths of Depravity
by MyraRain223
Summary: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne have all been kidnapped by the same group. Bruce is left to find them. What the kidnappers don't know is that when you mess with the Wayne family, chances are you'll have one seriously angry Bat to deal with. Please read and review! may add more chapters depending on review turnout... Rated T for violence.
1. Taken

**Well, this is just something that came to me in a fit of rage… Sorry Jason! (and co.)**

**So the premise is that all four bat boys were caught unaware in their civilian identities and tranquilized. Effectively kidnapped, the man behind it has yet to be revealed, but apparently wants money in exchange for the boys. All right? Cool.**

**I've updated this only a little. I remember in the Batman and Robin comics Bruce said something to Damian about him being a "millionaire, not a multibillionaire" so I wasn't sure how much was a good price. ^^" I've changed it now.**

**THERE WILL BE NO SLASH PAIRINGS IN THIS. **

**Warnings: angst, violence, and possible OOC portrayals. ^^"**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC/Time Warner does. **

His muscles were slow and stiff. He didn't remember being drugged, but he sure as hell recognized the side effects. He tested his ligaments in a regular fashion. His hands were cuffed behind him, his legs chained to something... He screwed his eyes shut before opening them cautiously. The room was white walled and padded with no remarkable features, and beside him – oh _shit_ – Dick, Tim, and Damian. His 'brothers'. None of them were shifting so he could safely assume the effects of whatever tranquilizers had been used were still wearing off on them. None of them were wearing their nightly personas either, that meant this was personal for whoever had taken them. It had to have something to do with Bruce – he was the only probable connection. He used his arms to maneuver himself closer to Dick, reaching out behind him to shake the older man.

Jason's efforts proved fruitful when Dick let out a sputtering cough and opened his bright blue eyes. "glad you could join the world of the living, Dickie-bird."

The man's eyes narrowed at the nickname, dumbly disoriented for a moment. Dick took a quick assessment of the situation, turning this way and that, testing his restraints much like Jason had moments ago. "How'd we get here, Little Wing?"

Jason growled at the endearing term, but didn't respond. As if on cue Tim shot upwards and took in a huge gulp of air. "We were drugged," He said matter-of-factly.

"Thanks for the astute observation, kid. I'm sure B would be proud," Jason sneered.

Just then Damian sat up and turned sleep-filled, but focused eyes on the three of them. He was closest to Jason while Tim and Dick lay a few meters away.

Jason sighed heavily. This was just not his night.

"OK. Let's not panic here. What's the last thing you all remember?" Dick asked.

Tim was the first to respond, "Uh… I think I was on my way to the manor. My bike was flipped and…" He shook his head, trying to remember. "and I felt this pinprick. That's all I can think of."

Damian grumbled something about Tim's incompetence before Dick's eyes slid to the youngest boy. "Father made me stay home…" They all caught the unspoken _from patrol_, "That's when I felt a dart hit my arm. Before I could adequately respond I was out. The sedative must have been strong."

Dick nodded. "I'd just left the Bludhaven Police Department when I experienced much the same thing. Did any of you actually see our attacker?"

"_Attackers_, plural. I caught a glimpse. I'd just gotten home, they missed the first dart, but caught me in the neck afterwards. The shadows hid their features, but I know there was more than one." Jason said evenly. He wasn't about to pick a fight with the others now; He may need to use them to get out of this mess.

"And how do we know you aren't behind this, Todd?" Damian spat.

Jason merely shifted the chains around his wrists to make an audible sound with them, pointing out that he too was trapped.

"_Relax boys, I'm the one that brought you here." _It was a voice coming in over a hidden speaker. The sound resonated through the room. "_don't worry, you'll soon be released. Just as soon as your father antes up."_

So, this was about money. Jason threw his head back and let out a deep laugh. "You do realize that Bruce doesn't give a rat's_ ass_ about me, right? Right. You can just let me go and we'll just pretend this never happened."

The voice returned the laughter in kind. "_Well, we will just see about that, won't we. Let's get Daddy on the phone, shall we? I'm sure that by now he's realized that his sons have all gone missing."_ Jason could practically hear the grin in the voice.

"What do you mean 'by now'?" Dick asked uncertainly.

The thing chuckled, "_it's been a few days now, Dick Grayson_." It paused, "_Don't worry. I'll allow you all to hear our conversation."_

A click sounded through the building. Suddenly a dial tone. Then a gruff, familiar voice. "Who are you?" Bruce snapped clearly over the speaker.

"_Now, now, Mr. Wayne, no need to get snippy. Your children are safe. All four of them."_

"If you touch even a single hair-"

"_Your empty threats will get you nowhere, Mr. Wayne, I assure you. Now if you don't mind, we should argue the terms of our –"_

"how do I know they are even still alive." It was a statement.

"_Now you see Bruce – do you mind if I call you Bruce? – your interruptions are starting to get on my nerves." _There was a pause, "_Maybe I'll just shoot the little one to show you I'm serious_."

A slot on the wall opened and a gun was brought through, aimed at Damian. Dick was the first to speak up; he roared in rage and pulled at his restraints. Tim, ever the analyst, remained silent but began to pick at his chains furiously in an attempt at escape, while Damian loosed a string of curses in both Arabic and English. Jason was quiet. He was still. He watched the gun set its sights on the boy, four inches from the boys heart, half and inch from the diaphragm . It wouldn't be a kill shot, he calculated, but it would hit a lung and hurt like a bitch.

Still a risk. The kid, for all his frustratingly arrogant remarks, was still a child. Innocent. Jason looked at Dick and Tim in turn. They were too far away to be of any use. It had to be him.

That was why when the trigger was pulled, when Bruce could be heard screaming "NO", and when Damian found himself unable to move, Jason twisted to the side and took the bullet in the chest.

In all honesty he'd expected it to be painful, especially without Kevlar, but what he hadn't exactly planned for was the blood that filled his mouth. It was agony, choking on his own blood, and the breathless nature of the event reminded him of being in his grave... He let out a strangled cry that did _not_ sound like his voice. His 'brothers' were shell-shocked. Bruce was silent. The voice wasn't.

"_Oops, looks like little 'Jaybird' took the bullet instead. Maybe that's why you're so quiet." _The voice laughed, but Jason was already starting to lose consciousness. Everything was growing fuzzy, and the taste of blood made him nauseated. His body betrayed him, going into painful spasms. Everything was going fuzzy...

"JASON! I swear to _God_, if he dies there will be nothing on Heaven or Earth to save your worthless-" The voice was full of inhuman rage and contempt. Jason shivered, coughing up the substance he couldn't seem to breathe around…

"_Looks like I nicked his lung. Hear that, Bruce? That's the sound of your son choking on his own blood. You've got maybe a few hours before he bleeds out. I had better receive eighty million before that happens, or I'll shoot another one. Don't worry, I'll transmit the location to you."_ The noise abruptly cut off and the room was plunged into silence. Jason was plunged into the open arms of darkness.


	2. Lost and Found

**Whew. Thanks for all the reviews, guys. This story has started to grow on me… My muse has been screaming at me nonstop since I started… O.O**

**Noetheless, thank you for your support and vigilance...it keeps me motivated to keep up with the story. 8D **

**I may add a few more chapters later, depending on further feedback. Let me know if you would like to see something in particular happen between the brothers, I'm pretty centered around Jason and Bruce, but if you have some interaction you'd like played out leave me a Private Message or review and I'll work it in. 8)**

**Sorry this chapters a bit short, but it's a tweeny chapter, sooo…. Here it is. 8)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC does.**

Chapter 2

Bruce listened to the dial tone for a few moments after the man hung up; the sound of Jason sputtering in pain still fresh in his ears. He would have sworn that Jason meant nothing to him anymore just a few days ago, but… well, it just wasn't true. Visions of an exploding warehouse, of a bloodied and broken son, of agony and fury, danced before his eyes. The suffering that was losing a child always stood within him, even after Jason's ungodly return…

His son… how long since he had called him that? Too long, probably. That did not mean that the connection was severed, however. It would never mean that. Not unless…

His mind refused to fathom the loss that would be inflicted if for the second time…

Jason had taken a bullet for Damian, reminding Bruce of what Jason always had been first and foremost: a protector, a soldier. His mind, the part that was Bruce Wayne, rebelled against the thought, at the lesser terminology for Jason. _That_ voice screamed "_my son_!" and wouldn't let go of the past; it whispered of all the times the boy had brought a smile to Bruce's usually sullen features. But he couldn't afford to be a father right now. Bruce Wayne needed to be the Dark Knight if he was going to have any chance at saving all four of his boys.

That's why, when the cape and cowl were donned, Bruce Wayne was absolutely silent and the Bat was cool and calculated.

Nanananananana LINE BREAK!

"don't worry Jaybird. You'll be all right. Bruce will come through for us." Dick whispered soothingly, running a hand through his brother's sweat-streaked hair. The boys had maneuvered themselves closer to Jason like a flock gathering protectively around an injured member, though Dick and Damian were the only ones that could actually touch the young man.

Jason lay limply on the floor, sputtering and coughing up blood from time to time. He was in bad shape, but being trained by Bruce, had been wise enough to force unconsciousness. This would slow down the blood loss, as well as reducing the pressure on the heart from the sucking chest wound. The brothers had done what they could, making a semi-medical seal over the hole to help equalize the pressure in Jason's left lung (using Dick's driver's license to create a seal). Not exactly _sanitary_, but it would have to do.However, if Jason didn't get help soon he would be dead; there was no mistake in it.

He was as white as a sheet, sweat beaded on his forehead, and goosebumps rose their ugly heads all across his body. Yet, at the moment, he looked every bit the young, vulnerable twenty-year-old he was. Not at all the angry, vengeful spirit they had come to know.

Tim was pacing somewhat nonchalantly, but the worry lines were evident. Neither of them knew exactly how to deal with this. Jason had just taken a _bullet_ for Damian, despite his near-constant denial of familial ties. Jason had always been a step away from becoming the most cunning and resourceful villain the boys would ever face, yet here they were being rescued by him… it just didn't add up in their minds.

Suddenly Damian was on his feet. "This is all _your_ fault, Drake."

Tim stared at the boy incredulously, "What the hell? What did I do?!"

"Your complete lack of purpose has led us to this situation. I hope Father leaves you chained to the wall."

Red Robin glared at the boy momentarily before abruptly dropping to the floor in a heap. "I'm not putting up with you today, Demon."

"-Tt- Pathetic," Damian spat.

"the hell are you two talkin' 'bout?" all three boys started at the sound of the voice – it was Jason. His head lolled from side to side and Dick helped him turn to the side slightly. The vigilante let out a wet cough before closing his eyes tightly against the offensive light of the room.

Dick jumped on the opportunity immediately. "Don't worry, Little Wing. B will come through for us."

Jason laughed harshly, but it swiftly turned into a series of fitful coughs. "not like I was worth the cash, anyways," He offered a bloody smile that only made Dick's arms tighten around the younger man.

It surprised both of them when Dick wasn't the next one to speak. "Shut up, Todd." It was Damian and Tim speaking in tandem.

The room fell silent but for Jason's labored breathing.

"_How cute. The family's working through their laundry list of problems." _The voice laughed harshly. And Jason groaned briefly at the interruption. "_I do love these Hallmark moments…"_

"_Then you'll _love_ me." _It was Bruce's voice, over the intercom.

Jason's heart jumped into his throat and threated to choke him. Fear lit his eyes and he struggled against his brother's iron grip. His blood pooled around him as it spewed from the wound in his chest, it was painful as hell, but he just kept on charging.

"_Jason, sit still._" The voice came again, it held no emotion and only served to infuriate Jason further.

Blood soaked Jason's shirt as he fought Dick and the sudden addition of Damian on his other side. "_fuck you_, Bruce. I'm NOT going back to prison." His eyes were hazy and unfocused.

"_what?- NO. Jason…" _Jason let out a strangled cry and blood frothed from his lips. "_Please, son…" _

That caught all of their attention. Jason stared at the corner in disbelief, but when he spoke his voice held a note of pleading, of desperation, though both were buried under so much pain and anger… "Swear to me, Bruce."

"_I swear, Jason."_ With that the young man collapsed against Dick's shoulder.

"_Dick, listen to me closely. The kidnapper was not here. I need to find him. Will… will you all be safe until then?" _Dick recognized the necessity of finding the man to learn their location, but… for some reason it felt like the man was putting the mission first – AGAIN. Dick sighed, considering his answer carefully.

"I don't know if Jason will last that long… Hurry up, Bruce. Don't screw this up."


	3. Why?

**Yeah, these chapters are a little shorter than my usual, but they're pretty ok, right? I don't know, just felt like writing… so here it is. An early update! Please leave a review. I think I did better with the mechanics of this chapter. Let me know. In a review. 8)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC does.**

Chapter 3

Bruce could feel tears of anger and sorrow threatening to fall. Of course, the Dark Knight felt nothing, kept working diligently, but they were there nonetheless. His mind kept replaying the scene of his son struggling to get away… away from _him_, not the bastard that took him, but from his own father… He kept seeing the blood flowing from Jason's wound, from his retching coughs… It hurt him more than he could express. He just kept thinking of the other time Jason had been like that, bleeding out too quickly for-

The Batman kept working. He was completely focused on putting the kidnapper behind bars. He searched through the files on the computers left for him. So far there were three different places the Wayne family members could be hidden away at, each on opposite parts of town. Wasting time going to all three would kill Jason Wayne. He weighed the statistical probability between the three, all the external noises in the evidence tapes narrowed it down to only two likely locations; at the pier near the east end, and at the very edge of Crime alley where the bridge connected it to the rest of Gotham. These two locations were long-forsaken asylums, both abandoned in the early 1900s when Arkham had been built. His fingers flitted over the keyboard noncommittally. His communicator buzzed annoyingly in his ear.

"What?"

"When were you going to tell me."

"Oracle. This doesn't concern you." The Bat responded coldly.

"Like hell it doesn't!" She screamed, that was unlike her.

"I'm working on it," He ground out.

"Forward me what you have. I've got the Birds of Prey scouring the city tonight."

He let out a primal growl. "This doesn't concern you, Barbara."

"I saw the footage, _Bruce_. Jason will be dead soon if you don't suck it up and let me help. I'm sending the girls to the two locations." Before he had a chance to object, he realized she'd hacked his system, taking the information he'd refused to give willingly. "Oracle- out."

His hands flicked out over the keyboard once more. He would find the kidnapper. It was all he could do now. Still, the part of him that was Bruce Wayne continuously repeated the words "my son" like a mantra, willing strength and fortitude to his wayward child as well as the others.

….

Damian watched Jason's ragged breathing warily. Each intake of air was a struggle, it seemed. He was concerned the man would die before he could find out why the hell the fool had taken a bullet for him in the first place. He decided to ask Grayson instead.

"Why did he do it. Why was he being so foolhardy." It was a statement more than a question.

Dick turned tired eyes on his little brother slowly. He sighed deeply, Jason still lay in his arms. "You already know the answer to that, Damian."

He made a face, "If I knew, I wouldn't ask, Grayson."

Dick made a point to sigh loudly, "Because, at the end of the day, we're all still brothers. All four of us. We all grew up with the mountain that is Bruce Wayne."

Damian furrowed his brow in concentration. That didn't make sense. Todd was a criminal. A murderer. Not a brother. "You're argument is invalid," he said.

Dick closed his eyes in an open display of weariness. "Tim's already fallen asleep, why don't you try to do the same?"

"Drake is weak worm. I am not tired. I want to know why Todd was so stupid."

"…Try counting sheep in your head…"

"You're not listening, Grayson. I want an answer!"

"…or maybe a calming park with trees and…"

"Why did Todd save me!?" Damian finally snapped. Teal green eyes snapped into focus beside him and suddenly Jason Todd had entered the conversation.

"I saved you because I could. And, maybe…" Jason coughed weakly before continuing, "Maybe, we're not so different, you and I… you're still a kid, either way."

The lights in the place shut down abruptly and the room was plunged into utter darkness. Damian yelped slightly at the sudden change and involuntarily moved closer to his brothers. After a few moments, he relaxed a little. Maybe Grayson had the right idea… he _was_ tired. The boy settled down next to Jason, closer than they would ever get if either could actually _see_. An arm wrapped around him, but he was too tired to argue about the contact. Damian just pretended he thought the arm belonged to Dick.

As it stood, the three brothers followed Tim's example and promptly fell asleep.

….

He wasn't sure when he realized it, but at some point hell had stopped meaning the ugly red creature with the horns and hooves. It had stopped meaning the whole picture of fire and blood and suffering. At some point, hell had come to mean something so much worse: the darkness, the feeling of being completely and utterly alone. Humans are naturally social creatures. Each yearning to gain attention, love, those small, seemingly insignificant gestures of affection that people come to live for… Hell is isolation. The removal of otherworldly interactions, of the simple pleasure of _talking_ to someone, anyone, was the worst agony Jason had ever felt – right up there next to, y'know, being murdered. He wasn't sure when it had surfaced – perhaps some time after waking up in his own coffin – but what he was sure of was that right now, he felt trapped in hell. The lights had gone out some time ago, and Jason was sure he was going crazy, but he couldn't hear any of his brothers. Though he'd never openly admit it, Jason was afraid. Scratch that, he was absolutely terrified.

He said the first thing that came to mind, mustering all the strength he could fit into the words: "Grayson?"

He wasn't sure how much of his panic had slipped into the question, but when Dick responded his tone was soft and soothing. "I'm here, little brother."

It was enough. Jason didn't even bother correcting the man this time. He felt Dick's arms tighten around him almost uncomfortably and Damian shift beside him. It was enough to tell him that there weren't walls closing in around him, and it was like a breath of freezing cold air; refreshing and psychologically healing. Maybe this whole 'family' thing wasn't such a terrible thing… Then again, maybe he'd just lost too much blood.

He muttered something that could have been taken for a 'thank you' before allowing unconsciousness to reclaim him.

**Please leave a review. They keep me interested in writing…. **


	4. Bloodletting

**Here's an update… Once again early… I was asked in a PM If I would consider expanding this story into its own universe. It would certainly allow for more experimentation into the mechanics of the Bat family, so… I'm game if I get enough reviewers saying whether y'all would be interested or not… This was just going to be a one shot… heh… Anyways, let me know what you think. **

**Either way, This story will be including quite a bit of brotherly interaction in the next few chapters. don't worry **

**(BTW: I consider Cassandra Cain Bruce's daughter figure and I will refer to her as such, if you believe this is not the case, I'm sorry. Just ignore the phrase when you see it. 8P)**

**Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC does.**

Chapter 4

They were awakened at roughly the same time, the flash of blinding light shaking the lingering tendrils of sleep from their bodies in a rush. The sharp mechanical click of a gun's safety being switched off was all that it took to put all four boys on high alert.

"Sorry to cut this short, boys." The voice was eerily familiar. Tim searched his features, all the while cataloguing every stitch and hair out of place on the man. This was their kidnapper. He stood with two muscular men behind him, each with a black ski mask on. How clichéd.

Nonetheless, the kidnapper waved his gun this way and that, finally letting it settle on Jason.

"Well. Fuck you too," Jason sputtered out. Tim spared a look for the older man, he was sweating profusely and his eyes were drooping. The blood loss was starting to show, it soaked through the white dress shirt he wore and badly stained the jacket and pants. He wouldn't last more than two hours at most.

The thought angered him.

The Ringleader stepped forward and pressed the point of his gun into Jason's wound, eliciting a scream of pain. He'd never before heard Jason cry out in pain… The thought was dizzying.

Dick struggled against his restraints before shoving the leader away. "I swear to _god_ if you touch him again I'll-"

"You'll what? I'm the one with the gun here, kid." The man pistol whipped Dick with the ease of practiced tension. It only made his brother growl furiously.

"On to what we came here for. We only need one of you for the exchange. I'll be damned if I miss this opportunity…" He paused dramatically, backing out of Dick's grasp. "You get to choose who comes with us!" The bastard clapped his hands together overzealously.

Jason let out a tired cough. "I'm injured. I won't put up a fight," He volunteered.

The man smiled. "Aww, poor little bird. I won't take a hostage that won't survive long enough for me to get my money. Pick again."

To Tim's surprise, Jason didn't put up any fight; he merely lowered his head to the ground slowly, as though he no longer could afford the effort of holding it up.

The three kidnappers were all laughing hysterically now. Their manic glee filled Tim with absolute disgust. Yet a small clink, told him that his modified cuffs were finally off, that he'd finally managed to pick the intricate contraptions. Red Robin wasted no time, in moments he was lunging at the three.

The first was slow to react and went down with a swift uppercut to the jaw. The second muscle-head was a little trickier. Number two pulled a Berretta from his waistband, but unfortunately for him, the vigilante was quicker. A hard-hitting knee to the gut had the man stumbling backwards, a quick jab to the neck had him out cold. A sound came from his left, earsplitting and mechanical.

Then the bullet tore through him. It ripped through the muscles in his leg and forced a cry from his lips. He should be used to getting shot by now, but for some reason it seems to hurt that much worse tonight.

His brothers react violently. Dick is cursing at the top of his lungs, vile, vulgar things that Alfred would probably smack him for. Damian was doing much the same. It was Jason's reaction that surprised Tim the most, though. Jason said nothing, but something in his eyes, something angry and primal, told Tim that at the moment when the younger man hit the floor in agony, Jason wanted to kill something. It flashed in the Hood's eyes quickly, but it was still there.

Tim clasped two hands on his leg in agony. The kidnapper stood over him, the gun trained at the boy's temple. God this hurt… blood slipped from between his fingers quickly creating a neat little pool beneath him.

"I'll go!" Dick screamed, his voice raw from earlier.

The man turned to look at Tim's brother. He felt no relief when the gun turned with the man. Dread rose in his throat, the trigger was pulled once more.

….

Dick gasped at the sheer cruelty of the bullet ripping into him. The metal fragment dug its way through him like the talons of a bird wiggling this way and that in a piece of prey. The force of the blow to his shoulder brought him to his knees. He definitely understood why Jason had always said shoulder wounds were the worst; they hurt like a bitch. Blood surrounded the brothers now, his own swiftly mixing with that of Jason's and Tim's.

Damian stood to the side, thunderstruck and… if Dick didn't know better, he'd call it fear.

"I've decided for you. The little one comes with me." He threw a set of jangling keys at the boy. When Damian didn't move, the man turned his gun to Dick again. "come with me, or the next one goes through his heart."

Swallowing past the bile in his throat, Dick spoke. "Go on, Little D."

To his surprise, Jason shifted, putting an arm around their little brother and pulling the kid closer. Dick couldn't quite make out the words, but he caught the movement of his wayward brother's hand slipping some object into Damian's back pocket.

The little boy nodded and to Dick's surprise, actually half-hugged the older man. "Just don't die, OK? None of you." Damian said.

The leader let out an impatient sigh. "Hurry up, brat."

Damian nodded, took off the ankle cuffs and followed the man out.

….

Damian, hands still trapped behind his back, felt in his pocket for the small razor blade Todd had slipped him. The kidnapper jabbed the gun into his side painfully, encouraging the boy to move faster. The kid let out a weary "tt".

"When my father comes, he'll have you killed."

The man laughed outright. "Yeah, he probably will. That's why we're not gonna give him the chance, right brat?"

Damian took a moment to process this. "There is no trade is there? You're just going to take me as an insurance policy."

"Ding ding, brat. Now be quiet. I'll shoot you if I have to."

_Just try it asshole._ Damian thought menacingly. He thought briefly of Jason and the others. Despite himself, he honestly hoped his father would help his… his brothers…

He sighed again when he was shoved towards the door of a very expensive black Subaru. Damian sat down inside and waited for the next event.

….

Bruce reached the abandoned asylum at the same time as His daughter. Black Bat gestured for him to follow her lead, but he promptly ignored her. Damned if he'd allow her to be hurt as well. He stepped in front of her and broke the window easily.

Batman had isolated the location to the area in Crime Alley. This was it. Cassandra followed him into the building, melting into the shadows with practiced ease. The Dark Knight swung open the nearest door, it was empty, but confirmed his suspicions about the place. The lighting and design of the room was too similar to the one in the video for there to be any mistake.

In his crouched position he heard the sound. It froze his blood and filled him with an icy sense of overwhelming dread. It was a muffled cry of pain.

Bruce Wayne took over in a heartbeat. He was no longer the detective, completely detached from the scene. He was a father in desperate need to see his sons. Blood rushed to his ears and adrenaline flooded his system. When he ripped the final door in the hallway open and saw his children, bloody and pale on the ground, he lost it.

Something inside him snapped.

Jason was the first one he ran to. The man was unconscious in a pool of his blood. It looked too much like that other time…

His breathing was labored, and Bruce fixated on the sucking chest wound. It had been held together by makeshift supplies and... was that Dick's driver's license? It had created a fairly practical seal over the hole.

"Call an ambulance!" His focus was on Jason. Cassandra went to work patching his boys as best she could. He noted the injuries of both Dick and Tim and- where was Damian?

He turned to Dick, whose eyes drooped ever so slightly. "Where is Damian?"

"The bastard took him." Bruce nodded and looked back at Jason. The man's eyes fluttered open, though they were blurry and unfocused.

"Sure took your damn time." The man said slowly. He flinched visibly as more blood leaked from his chest. The Bat demanded that he get up and go after the man that did this… the man that still had his youngest… But the father in him saw the broken and trembling bird before him right now; saw the two other boys he'd raised in a heap around him. He could not bring himself to leave.

Instead, Bruce wrapped his arms around Jason's shivering form and placed a hand on the open wound while the other gently brushed through his son's unkempt black hair. Words slipped past his mouth faster than he could process them. "You'll be all right. You're my son, you'll be fine. It's not nearly as bad as it could be. My son…"

He rambled on like that until he heard the sirens echoing through the asylum.

"I… Thought… I was… your greatest failure…" Jason dragged out each word. Each one felt like a stab to the heart.

But he didn't have time to process the words or come up with a proper response.

In a single release of breath, his son stopped breathing.

**Please leave a review!**


	5. All is Well, Its Only Blood

**All right, I wanted to leave the cliffhanger a bit longer, but it just felt cruel. Thanks for sticking with me thus far! Hope this chapter holds up to your expectation, let me know! **

**A/N: I'm kind of mixing worlds in this, for those of you that noticed, yes Jason was wearing spiffy clothing in the last chapter. That was because I liked the premiss of the New 52's Jason taking on that rich kid air. I liked the idea of Jason absorbing his dad's style of clothing. This AU is a mixture of what I like about the reboot and what I like about the previous. Hence the Birds of Prey. If you have questions, leave a comment. 8D**

**So… there's the explanation for that. ^^**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC does.**

Chapter 5

Damian shifted uncomfortably in the leather of the seat. The man was on the phone with someone, speaking in an angry tone that bordered on outright screaming. They had driven for approximately twenty miles, now they were 'hiding' in an alley Southside. He'd been given the liberty of stretching his legs, but… He couldn't find the will to get up. If Father had not found the others by now then…

Jason could be dead. He probably was dead. All that blood pooling around the older man…

And he hadn't even gotten the chance to use the weapon his big brother had slipped him yet.

Damian rolled the blade between his fingers, when the man came back, Damian would use it.

Jason deserved better. He was… Damian's brother. That meant something. He knew it did. It meant the man was part Al Ghul and Wayne, just like Damian. It meant that he deserved to be avenged…

But the man was still on the phone. He steered clear of the car and the boy. That's all right. He would bide his time.

Damian let his mind run through all the major arteries he could slice. The carotid and jugular vein in the neck, the femoral in the back of the leg, the radial and ulnar in the wrist… It rolled through his mind in a whirlwind. The boy lifted his legs and maneuvered his arms so that his hands were in front of him now. The perfect position to kill.

He heard the click of the phone and knew the call had ended. Just a few more steps.

He didn't make it that far. In a blast of fury, the kidnapper was thrown into the side of the vehicle and held off the ground by a black-clad arm. A bat symbol flashed into Damian's vision. He heard a growl of absolute fury and felt the car shake with it. He heard the pounding of a fist into exposed flesh, the crack of bones in the man's jaw breaking, and the cringing sound of skin splitting under impact.

Damian hopped out of the car, his father stood there in a rage beating the man ruthlessly.

He was going to kill him.

The kidnapper raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Please… please stop! Spare me! Please…"

The Bat grabbed the front of the man's shirt, hefting him off the ground easily. "My son… My son _died_ because of _you_." The words were out of his mouth quickly and were filled with such conviction and hatred that Damian had to flinch away.

The boy leaned against the alley wall for support, his father's words sinking in with deafening finality. Batman went back to beating the man, each blow more unfocused and powerful than the last. His father released a sound that was so foreign and pain-filled to Damian's ears that it didn't even sound like Bruce anymore.

"F-Father…" He said weakly.

The man that was not his father continued to beat the kidnapper, seemingly unable to hear his youngest son.

"Father… Stop…"

The blows kept raining down. Blood now coated the ground and Batman's knuckles, the kidnapper was all too quiet.

"Father!" He cried.

That got Bruce's attention, he stopped mid-attack. He turned cold, white-out lenses on his son. All at once, Damian made the realization: this was not Batman at all. This was Bruce Wayne, mourning his son. _Avenging_ his son.

Tears filled the boy's eyes and he simply held out his arms. He didn't care anymore if he looked weak. He was tired and cold and he just wanted to go _home. Bruce's_ shoulders dropped, and he staggered away from the mess to collect Damian into his arms. He trembled and released a child-like cry of emotion, sobbing intermittently into his father's chest.

Later, much later, Damian would realize that his father's shoulders shook as well.

….

Tim shook his head from left to right, his wound wasn't bad per se, it just hurt to move around. He turned to his right to see Stephanie at his side. She wore a flattering top that he was sure she would insist was the color eggplant and black denim jeans. Her hair was up away from her face, but she definitely seemed like a godsend. He shifted forward and embraced her tightly.

"Hey, Steph," He said.

"Hey Timmy. How are you feeling?" He shook his head again before releasing her.

"I'm fine… is… is Dick all right? What about Damian? And Jason? Where's Bruce?" All his questions came out in a rush of air.

She laughed softly. "Dick's fine. He's in the room next door. As for Damian and Bruce… Both are gone… Bruce left when Jason…" She bit her lip anxiously.

"When Jason what?" His heart filled with dread. He remembered Jason had stopped breathing, but…

Stephanie took a deep breath and ran her fingers through his black hair absently. "His heart stopped… Bruce went after the kidnapper and…"

Tim didn't hear much after that. Those three words. Jason had died again.

….

Bruce carried his youngest to the Batmobile where the two made their way back to Wayne Manor. The two changed quickly into civvies before meeting in the library. He wore a simple black t-shirt and sweat pants while Damian chose to wear blue jeans and a white shirt. He clung to his father with every step, ensuring the man would not go back to the alley… Soon enough the two had joined with Alfred and were ready to go to the hospital, even with the absence of Jason, Dick and Tim still needed them.

So, Bruce put on a brave face, tried to block out the image of the kidnapper lying bloodied and broken, and got into his car. He would deal with this like he dealt with everything else: by suffering in silence. He remembered being at the asylum, holding Jason in his arms, and feeling the horrible silence when his son had stopped breathing. The blood around him had been overwhelming. He tried CPR but nothing seemed to bring the boy's heartbeat back into rhythm. So, after tearing away the restraints leaving raw cuts in Jason's arms, Bruce had carried the boy to the ambulance screaming at them to save him. They had tried twice, but… Jason was gone. Bruce would need to live with that just like everything else. But god if it didn't cut him deeply.

He just kept seeing Jason trembling and saying those words: "_I… Thought… I was… your greatest failure…_" The thought burned him, and made him flinch away from the memory. He _had_ failed Jason, he had failed to show his son the measure of love he felt for him…

When they arrived at Gotham General he was surprised to see Barbara there waiting for him. She gestured for him to lean down, and when he followed her lead she smacked him clean across the face. His neck jarred with the impact, but he recovered quickly.

"If you ever do something that stupid again, I will hunt you down. Got it?" She said before pulling him into a tight hug.

….

Dick woke with a start, his mind jolting him from sleep before his body could keep up. He let out a strangled cry, he remembered… remembered Jason had stopped breathing and –

A hand squeezed his own, making him turn abruptly to his left.

He was in a hospital room, isolated with the smell of antiseptic and cold with the shadow of death. He hated hospitals. The room was white and unadorned with any warm objects, it added to the atmosphere. Cassandra sat beside him, staring into his deep blue eyes uneasily. She was clad in a simple black tank top and leggings to match. She'd obviously been here for a while.

"How's Tim?" He asked uncertainly, though he clearly wanted to ask about another brother.

"He's resting in the room next door. The doctors say that if the bullet had gone any higher or lower he would have died or been paralyzed. He was very lucky," She smiled reassuringly.

"Jason… He's dead isn't he?" Dick had meant it as a statement, but it came out more like a pleading question.

Cassandra shook her head swiftly. "I tried to tell Bruce… He took off after the kidnapper and Damian before he could hear… It took three tries, but they got his heart to start beating on its own again. He's on a respirator until his wound can heal up, but… he's alive, Dick."

A weight lifted from his shoulders and all at once he felt like he could breathe deeply after a long time. He smiled and pulled his little sister into a bear hug that was more like him. He laugh-cried into her slender shoulders and didn't let go until he felt her return the gesture.

His brother was alive.

**Please review!**


	6. The Boys are Back

**So here' a quick update. I've had the worst case of writer's block lately… 8/ Anyways, here it is. Let me know what you think.**

**Up until this point I haven't REALLY gotten into Jason's head, so here's the first attempt of many. Beware Jason's language.**

**Enjoy and review!**

Chapter 6

When Bruce walked into the hospital he fully expected for there to be an excess of fanfare and he wasn't let down. The reporters were on him in minutes.

"Mr. Wayne, how do you feel about the attack on your children?"

_How did he _feel_? Seriously?_ He thought, trying to force his way through the crowd.

"How are your children doing?"

_Move aside and maybe I could find out._

"We heard that the Bat laid a serious beat down into the kidnapper. Care to elaborate?"

Bruce snapped his head to the side to stare at the reporter that had spoken. The reporter in question was a middle aged man, bald and rotund with shining eyes of green. He held a pad of paper and pen ready for any information. "What do you mean?" Bruce asked as nonchalantly as possible.

"Haven't you heard?" He asked with a snide little grin on his face. Bruce had to resist the urge to punch him. "Following a rather violent attack by what witnesses say was Batman, the man that kidnapped your children was found shot to death in that same alleyway."

The billionaire felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Dead. That meant that Batman had… that _He_ had… The man had been shot.

He had not carried a weapon. The Dark Knight took over in moments.

Someone had taken that man's life, finished off what he had started. No one would know where they were. Damian had mentioned that before Batman had come, the kidnapper had been on the phone with someone; perhaps there were more people involved in this than the detective had originally anticipated.

"Mr. Wayne?" The reporter's question jolted the cape and cowl away from him. The lights of many cameras lit his face once more and the crowd surrounded him.

He muttered a quick "no comment" before pushing his way through the crowd, keeping Damian and Barbara close to him.

When they entered the hospital and were told the room numbers of Tim and Dick the three split up. His son and Barbara went to see Dick while he left to see Tim. Making his way down the long, sterile corridor Bruce heard a commotion. Normally he would have ignored all but his singular mission, but a single sentence made him swerve toward the second hallway. Even if it was a long shot, Bruce couldn't help himself. Even if his heart dangled on the ledge of despair and pain, he had to know for sure.

The sentence rang out again, and suddenly Bruce was running.

"Mr. Todd!"

….

Jason had always been the strongest of all who had come to wear the Robin persona. Perhaps not in mental sanity, but that didn't really count anyways. What he lacked in finesse and grace he more than made up for with brute force and power of will. In training he pushed himself to his limits, and then some, in order to achieve the kind of physicality he felt he needed. Part of that was to prove he was equal to Dick and part of it to prove himself worthy to Bruce. There were records of him bench pressing over four times his body weight in a single exercise and then go on to not only spar with Bruce with finish various other training obstacles.

He was also determined. He had an indomitable will that still went unmatched by either Tim or Damian. Bruce had always assumed it was because he had come from the streets, because he was forced to survive at any cost. And perhaps that was true, it would certainly make sense.

He was exceedingly cunning and intelligent, despite what others have thought of him. Sure, he definitely let his anger get the better of him at times, but that didn't mean he lacked the capability to plan ahead and outmaneuver his opponents. After all, he had outfoxed the goddamned _Batman_. True, he was never as skilled in detective work as Tim or Bruce, but then, neither was Dick. It wasn't his fault Tim was a fucking genius and that Bruce was an obsessive SOB. Okay, he had to admit he probably was too big a fan of explosives, but hey, can you really blame a guy? Its _fire_ being _thrown_ at someone. What male _wouldn't _love that? Dick and Tim didn't count.

Above all, though, Jason was the most stubborn. He was probably only rivaled in that department by Damian. Jason had come back from the _grave_ after all.

All-in-all, Jason figured that he'd make a pretty good villain (was that paradoxical?). Not like those other freaks always beating around the bush. Nah, Jason would just go after the fucking bush. It was easier that way, straightforward when you need to be and deceptive when the time called for it. He definitely had the insanity part of the job. But of course, he would never label himself a villain. He preferred _Dark Hero_. Sounded better. And what the hell was he doing dwelling on all this shit for anyways?

His mind shook itself; actually, it more jolted him and said "wake the hell up, idiot."

Jason opened his eyes slowly at first, struggling to fully wake up against the encroaching tide of fatigue. It felt like something was lodged down his throat. He choked half-heartedly, but it was enough to send him a shock of pain.

In a moment it all flashed before his mind's eye. The kidnapping, the bullet, and… Bruce. He distinctly remembered Bruce calling him "son". Jason cringed inwardly. Until he heard otherwise, he would just assume that the Big Guy simply meant "kid", rather than some sort of falsely endearing term.

Something touched his arm, a pinch. His mind reacted instantly, all residue of sleep lifted automatically. In a moment Jason was in movement. He opened his eyes fully, ripping out anything that touched him. The tube was a bit of a bitch, as was the IV drip. Nonetheless, he couldn't stop his body from reacting. The pain in his chest worsened, but he ignored it in favor of the adrenaline rushing through him. It was a nurse with him. He didn't mean to hurt her, but he did shove her back. The room was too small, the machines too close, and the silence too much like the last time he'd been trapped…

"Mr. Todd! Please sit back down!" The nurse cried. Her plump form and overzealous application of perfume almost chocked him. His senses were on over-drive and it was all he could do not to outright punch her. His sight was blurry, shifting this way and that just when he thought he'd gotten a handle on it all.

A migraine formed, pounding in inconsistent waves each more powerful than the last. Still, he couldn't force himself to relax. By now blood had soaked his outfit.

He'd probably kill himself if this kept up, but Jason still couldn't quite get a grasp on himself.

"Mr. Todd!" She screamed.

He didn't hear her. If he could, the sound was too far away to be discernible.

"Jason!"

That voice sounded like…

"Son!"

That knocked him back to reality. Whatever images of closed spaces and pain had been flashing before his eyes disappeared.

The room was just a room again. The woman, just a woman. The bed, just a bed.

Bruce stood before him, steadying his body with his own. There were unshed tears in the older man's eyes as the two blinked awkwardly at each other.

"My son… You're alive…" The words seemed muddled, but Jason couldn't stop himself from replying to the fullest extent of his abilities.

"Damn straight."

With that, Jason's legs gave out. The drugs were finally taking effect. Something caught him, but at that point he was too out of it to care


	7. Healing

**This is sort of a healing/transitional chapter. Nonetheless, I hope you like it! Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Thanks so much to all the reviewers!**

**Without further ado, here is the chapter!**

Chapter 7

It had taken three times to get his heart back into rhythm. If he had just stuck around to be with him, Bruce would have seen the moment when Jason became alive again. If he had stuck around he wouldn't have had to hurt that man the way that he did. If he hadn't hurt the man to the point where he couldn't run away, the bullet that ended him would never have found purchase.

The end was an indirect result of a series of irrational behavior on his part- no. Not irrational, _sentimental_, fatherly. Bruce sighed deeply. His son, still alive. The sentence would not leave him alone. Of course, he knew he should see how his other children were, but this seemed to take precedence in his mind. Jason lay on the hospital bed, sedated and back on the respirator. They had explained that Jason didn't _need_ it to breathe, but it would allow the wound to heal without the common irritation of him breathing on his own. It would be removed in three to four more days, whenever Jason recovered enough that it became possible.

Looking at the young man now Bruce felt perplexed; when Jason slept all worry lines disappeared (save one in between the brows, which never seemed to relax). Right now, it struck Bruce just how _young_ Jason was – is. Without the radiation of pain and aggression, Jason seemed so childlike and fragile; like he had always been a lost bird, waiting for his father. The thought ignited some opposition in the Bat.

_He is a criminal, and before that only a soldier, a protégé, _It said.

_No! My son, that is all, the only title he needs. _Bruce fired back.

_He ceased being your son too long ago, he can never be that again._

_He never stopped being my child. Never._ His own voice boomed in his head, the Bat fell silent in resignation. _I won't fail him this time._

The peaceful expression on his son's face faltered momentarily, the lines of stress took hold once more and Jason coughed half-heartedly at the discomfort of the tube. He turned his head as much as the bed allowed. He groaned as though in pain, then his face contorted into one of fear and anguish. He spat out half words incoherently. "Bru… no…j-joke…"

Bruce's eyes widened, Jason should not be able to dream with all the medication pumped into his system… yet here he was. His son's arms moved upwards slightly, like he was trying to block some invisible blows, flinching each time one of these apparent 'blows' struck.

"N-no… d-dad?" the words were muddled thanks to the tube, but still managed to sound so broken and childlike. They pulled at the invisible strings inside of him; Bruce felt a burst of shame. How many nights had his son spent alone and afraid, locked away in his own mind? How many times had he cried out for his father only to wake up to an empty room?

He couldn't fathom the pain.

In a moment, Bruce knew what to say. He reached up and laid a hand over Jason's forehead, smoothing the wayward strands of black there in a calming gesture.

"It's all right, son. I'm here."

At the sound of his voice, Jason visibly relaxed, though not completely. Bruce smiled. He supposed that if nothing else, as a father he could still chase away the nightmares of his children. _Right, fitting, what a father _should_ be for his sons: A source of security_. He could be that for Jason.

He could be that for all of them.

….

Dick's mind kept flashing images of the shooting at him. He kept seeing Jason coughing and bleeding on the ground. He kept seeing Tim screaming in pain as he was shot. And he kept seeing Damian, downcast and a little afraid, as he was led away. His thoughts swirled around in a rotating whirlwind of memories. Each time he thought of the kidnapper in particular his blood boiled and he found himself wanting to punch something, _anything_, to get the anger out in a discernible pattern.

"Are you even listening to me?" Tim's words broke him out of the thoughts churning in his mind. When he looked up, his little brother was staring at him expectantly.

"I hear you talking." Dick flashed a sly smile.

Tim frowned. "I asked what we're going to do about Jason."

Dick frowned now. "What do you mean?"

The younger man sighed dramatically. "How are we going to deal with his inevitable reincorporation to the family? It has to happen, Bruce won't let him just wander away after what he did for the demon spawn."

He nodded sullenly. The events of the past few days had solidified Jason's place in the family. He was no longer considered the one that was exiled to them; he was just separate by his own choosing. "We don't need to do anything, Timmy. Jason has a choice now, and we just have to wait for him to make the right one."

Tim looked unsatisfied. He went on as though Dick had never opened his mouth, "Maybe we could cause an 'accident' in his Gotham safe houses. Then he'd _have_ to stay at the manor. He wouldn't have a choice!"

The older man sighed, sometimes Tim just didn't think. "if we blew up his safe houses he'd know it was us. Jason's not an idiot."

"You're right; he's just overly aggressive and masochistic." Tim rolled his eyes.

"Dork."

"Ass."

"it won't work."

"It will if we leave a trail leading back to Black Mask, or Two-Face."

"Jason will still know. Like I said, _not_ an idiot."

Tim growled in frustration, throwing his hands into the air. He was still on bed rest with his leg propped up. Dick sat back in the wheelchair he'd been forced to use to get around. 'hospital policy' or whatever.

"There has to be a way to bring him back into the fold…"

Dick sighed. "there very well may be, but if Jason doesn't want to come back then all our efforts will be wasted. He has to want this."

A shaft above them sprang open and a little assassin popped out, hanging from the ceiling somewhat awkwardly. The two brothers below watched with something akin to amusement, as the little boy slipped out and landed on his feet like a cat. Damian ran his hands over himself, patting off the dirt and grime left there. "Finally, Grayson. I've been looking all over for you. I never suspected you would be consorting with such a lowly individual."

"I'm sitting right here, Damian!" Tim practically shouted.

"An irritation we are all _well_ aware of." Damian rolled his bright blue eyes and Dick had to hold back a chuckle.

Their middle brother growled and glared at their youngest, "Brat!"

Damian smirked, but then turned to Dick, completely ignoring the existence of the third Robin.

"I feel obligated to ask how you are doing." He paused for a beat. When Dick did not respond, he continued. "How are you doing."

A statement, not a question. Dick let out a small laugh. "Oh, just enjoying the light-hearted raillery between my two brothers." Dick rolled his shoulder slightly, only just managing to hold back a wince. "The shoulder's healing up fine too."

Damian grimaced at the first part, but only nodded at Dick's last words.

Tim let out an annoyed huff. The door to their room was opened with only the slightest of knocks in announcement. The Birds of Prey had arrived. Cassandra, Stephanie, and Barbara entered silently, apparently having just come from a serious talk.

Barbara spoke first. "Boys." They each nodded. "I wanted to let you know that the Birds will be patrolling this week."

Stephanie stepped past Oracle momentarily, nodding. "We'll take care of everything, so just focus on getting better." She smiled sweetly.

Dick could practically feel the drool running down Tim's mouth. For a genius, he was such a ditz sometimes.

Cassie smiled in the background, but offered no speech.

Dick nodded again, "Thanks, ladies." He offered Barbara a stunning smile that was just about the best he had in his arsenal.

"Please, Grayson, your affections are disgusting." Damian hissed.

"Hey! I'm not the one drooling all over himself!"

Tim started from his stupor, "I'm not drooling!"

"I never insinuated that it was you, idiot!" Dick fired back.

"-Tt- I grow weary of this foolish struggle."

The girls laughed -even Cassie- and smiled brightly. "The whole bat brood together in one room. Seriously, what's the chances that the world has ended?" The original Batgirl asked.

"It is a high possibility," Damian snapped.

"Boys." Everyone in the room turned in attention of the new speaker. Bruce stood in the doorway as the girls stepped aside in welcome. He looked… like… shit. His hair was tousled, his eyes bloodshot, and the hint of shadow hugged his chin. This was the first time they had seen the older man since the incident.

Bruce walked confidently up to Dick first, embracing him fiercely despite having to lean down to reach the young man. Dick returned the hug before his father moved on to Tim. To his surprise, Damian shifted closer to their father so they were almost touching.

When their father backed away from Tim, he merely placed a hand on Damian's shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier, I…"

"It's all right, Bruce," Dick interrupted. "Cass told me you were with Jay… How is he?"

Their father's expression fell. "He's… he's doing as well as can be expected."

"That's not what I meant."

Bruce averted his gaze. "He's been in and out, I don't know if he will stay with us or not, but he should come off the respirator in a matter of days. We will all talk then."

Tim shifted to make himself more comfortable in the pile of pillows at his head. "So… long story short, it's the proverbial 'only time will tell' response?"

Now it was Dick's turn to avert his gaze.

Barbara rolled her chair forward to enter herself into the conversation. "I think what you all need to consider is where he will fit in with this family. Jason… Will need space," she pointedly stared at Bruce, "Are you willing to give him that?"

"I'll give him all the space he needs, but I can't outright abandon him."

Barbara nodded. "well, in any case, the Birds will be patrolling for however long you need." With that, the young woman left, Stephanie and Cassie trailing after her.

Left alone the four huddled closer to each other. "I'm glad you're all doing all right."

Tim and Dick nodded. To their surprise it was Damian who spoke, "I want to ask Jason a question. I think I will visit him soon."

"I think it would be best if we _all_ paid him a visit." All four sat in silent agreement.

If they could just show Jason that he meant something to them… Well, the young man had already proven that he still held familial ties to them. In that room, Jason had displayed a sort of yearning to be a part of the Bat family again, Dick just hoped that Jason wouldn't be scared away by some stupid misstep in between.

He hoped Jason would come home with all of them and be safe.

**Horay! The word count is more than usual! 8D**

**Please leave a review!**


	8. Prelude

**Sorry for the late post, but Tumblr has been a huge distraction lately…. ^^"**

**The next story I update will be Childlike Ambition followed by Anger Management (unless my muse says F-you and switches that order…)**

**Anywho, This post is all Jason, but I promise up next is cute Dick, Bruce, and Tim centric feels… Enjoy and please leave a review, Kay? **

**ONWARD!**

Chapter 8

Every sense was blurred almost beyond recognition. Every voice sounded like it had ricocheted around a bit to decide what words it wanted to form. Every sensation was sharp, yet dull, painful yet subdued. And the hell if he knew what to make of what he was _seeing_.

Sure, the scene looked simple enough, but to his mind it made absolutely zero logical sense. Yeah, the background of the unfamiliar room was a bit disorienting in and of itself, there was no point in denying that. The problem(s) was the group of Bats surrounding him in some sort of new tactical formation that Jason didn't recall ever learning. Bruce sat to his immediate left, obviously exhausted. The older man barely fit onto the chair he'd flung himself on, but didn't seem to mind as he argued with the replacement to his right. Straight ahead was none other than the Golden boy and the Demon spawn, both of which were staring at each other in deep conversation. All four were lagged down by fatigue with dark circles forming under their eyes. They each were clothed in simple attire that was loose and comfortable, things that were only worn in the Wayne household for two reasons; Training exercises and recovery.

Whatever fog that had lodged itself in his mind was starting to fade and the gears started to turn. The first thing he really took note of were the injuries sustained by each of the young men. Jason breathed a sigh of relief – though he wasn't sure _why_ – when he saw that both Damian and Bruce were unharmed. Soon enough Jason recovered enough left hemisphere functionality to speak.

"The hell are you guys doin' here?" the tube had been removed only a day before, and Jason's words stuck in his throat and came out raspy. He coughed a bit to clear his throat, but only succeeded in igniting pain in his chest. "Ow."

At his voice all noise in the room ceased and every person turned wide eyes on him. "don't tell me my makeup's smeared." Jason feigned anxiety.

A hand grasped his and Jason had to fight the impulse to snap the offending ligament. It was Bruce. The older man was standing now, leaning closer to him like a fretful mother bird – or bat. The older man handed him a glass of water wordlessly.

After a few awkward gulps, Jason straightened in bed. The white, starch laden sheets shifted uncomfortably against his skin, but he had to ignore it for now. "Someone gonna talk, other than the guy who just spent the past few days with a machine breathing for him?"

That only seemed to earn him nervous and uncomfortable glances. He sighed. "All right, well then all of you should, y'know, _get out._"

It was Dick, the golden boy, that spoke first. "Jason, we just wanted-"

He cut the older man off, "look, as much as I love these family bonding… _things_… I'm really not in the mood." Jason took a deep breath, looking at his brothers first and finally Bruce.

"But you admit that we're family?" The grin on Dick's face could probably blind several people. Seriously, what was with this guy? It's like the sun threw up a kid onto the planet Earth and said 'bitches, admire it!' And Jason most certainly did not feel up to admiring the Golden Boy. So… what were they doing? Oh right, Jason's head was still pounding and these people would not leave him alone.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Pretty Boy."

"how are you feeling?" It was Bruce talking and the emotion in his voice could probably be taken as humanity. Jason accepted it as such, and gave an honest answer.

"Like shit. One-hundred-fifty percent, industrial grade shit. Seriously, there was a hole in me. It's not like we don't get enough of those out there." If at all possible, Bruce's expression darkened. The hell was that about? It looked like… like Bruce…

_No_. Don't go there, Jason.

Whatever wheels his mind had been trying to grease stopped, but his migraine had only intensified. The pounding was growing to an unbearable level. "OK. I get that you all care, or whatever, but I'm tired." He rubbed at his eyes absently. "Can we just pick this up later?"

Bruce seemed to accept that, gesturing for the others to file out. They obeyed obediently enough, with only a few backward glances.

But the older man stopped in the doorway, turned back to Jason quietly. "I'm glad you're all right."

Jason stared at him for a long time, but couldn't find words to say. Maybe it was the headache, or maybe it was the drugs that still filtered through his system; but when Bruce made two small bounds to end up at his bed and pulled the younger man into a tight embrace… well, Jason found he didn't have any will left to fight it.

The truth was that he had… well, a _part_ of him wanted to stay there, in the relative safety of a father's arms… But they both knew that could never happen.

Could it?

…

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark, the only source of light was a TV in the far corner. He blinked to clear his vision, and… Was that Damian? The little bundle of blankets on the chair next to his bed shifted, but did not seem to come awake. The news blared and suddenly nothing else existed.

"_It was found, just a few nights ago, that the man behind the kidnapping of Bruce Wayne's children was murdered." _The woman on screen gestured behind her_. "It was in this alleyway that Batman, the self-proclaimed hero of the city, attacked the man and left him brutally injured. Before police arrived, but apparently after the departure of the Bat, the man was shot to death by an unknown assailant. This is Cn…"_

Jason blinked. Once. Twice. His head was clearer. Bruce had attacked a man. had attacked someone for hurting… Jason? No. For hurting Dick and Tim. For taking Damian? And that man had ended up dead? Either directly or indirectly because of the actions of His Fath- no, Bruce.

He shook his head and let his mind go blank for a while, it was too much to try and think about it all.

Nonetheless, he wasn't given much time because soon his little brother – he had come to think of Damian as such – was staring at him with wide, childish eyes.

"Jason?" He said, rubbing at his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm here, kid."

The boy straightened, untangled himself from the blankets, and soon stood right next to the bed. "I have a question and you must answer it to the best of your ability."

Did he sound like a fucking drill sergeant? Yeah. It was crazy. He laughed.

The boy continued, ignoring Jason's reaction altogether. "Why?"

Jason stopped laughing enough to ask a muttered, "why what?"

"Why did you protect me? Why- why did you give me that blade? Why did you do any of it?"

Jason sobered. "Damian, no matter what happens between the Bats, you're still a kid and like it or not that means you will always have someone looking out for you. Whether that's Bruce or me is irrelevant."

"You could have left Dick to help me. Why you?"

Jason cocked his head to the side, "I don't know, kid. Maybe you and I are just more alike than either of us lets on. Either way, I wasn't about to let _another_ little bird be killed… not when I was…" He trailed off, unsure of how to finish. That newscast was really starting to get to him, his words could almost be considered sentimental.

"Oh." Was all he said in response.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just… Thank you."

Jason smiled, genuinely smiled. "Anytime, kid. I'll just have to get over my aversion to getting shot." Damian smiled a little at that.

Though he'd probably never say it aloud, Jason figured he liked Damian. Demon child though he was, the kid was still a kid and no matter what bad blood boiled between Bruce and him, Jason figured he would be mindful of this one.

He could be a brother to Damian.

But that was definitely where it ended.

He was certainly not getting to be best friends with Dick or the replacement.


	9. Aegis

**All right… so I was getting really bored with the filler stuff I originally planned to write… So I wrote a kind of rushed piece that pretty much clears all the crap out of the way… I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I just hate writing filler chapters… So…. Yeah. ^^" **

**I will add more character development for Tim and Dick and Damian later, I'm just trying to get this huge moment for Bruce and Jay out of the way first. (sorry, I love them)**

**Please let me know what you think and be sure to tell me if this is really something you would like to see continued. Thanks guys! **

Chapter 9

Jason was awake the instant he heard the noise. He kept his eyes closed and hid the fact of his awareness. He'd been contemplating his place in the family for hours now, and had only just gotten to sleep for mere moment when this intruder had barged in.

The figure began to speak, and Jason let it. "Hey, Jason. It's me, Tim."

The boy paused, apparently pulling over a chair. "You know, I used to talk to your memorial case all the time. I idolized you." The boy leaned closer; Jason could feel Tim's breath on his arm now. "Don't tell Dick, but I always thought you were the best Robin. Bruce told me you strived to be better than Dick all the time… and, well, I always tried to emulate you… I got a hold of your workout logs, you were benching four times your weight! You were the Robin that I saw in action, I mean really saw… I tried to be like you… and in a lot of ways I feel like I still try. I think Damian tries to do the same. We all do. I guess that makes me and the little demon your legacy."

Jason's heart skittered, before returning to a normal pace. All of a sudden Jason was overwhelmed. The room was stifling and the atmosphere choking. He couldn't be here anymore. He just couldn't.

"Well, anyway… We're all waiting for you, Jason." With that, the chair scuffled on the floor and he heard the boy hobble to the door.

Once the door clicked shut, Jason sat bolt upright. He tore the various scanning devices from his skin and got up. He quickly overcame the moment of vertigo. He grabbed what he assumed were his clothes. Simple jeans, white shirt and leather jacket. Perfect.

Once he was dressed he was gone. He thought of apologizing to Bruce, but he couldn't seem to force himself. The old man had wasted enough time on scum like Jason, and frankly the young man was tired of having to think about this. Emotions suffocated him and all at once he felt the flash of painful memories flood his awareness. Being in that warehouse, feeling the crowbar, hearing the maniacal laughter of the Joker and… oh _god_, the damned wooden box…

The fog of Gotham was starting to get to him. It choked him and whispered of useless ambition and wasted opportunities. It reminded him that he had died and should never have come back.

For the first time in a while, Jason felt himself succumb to those words.

He should have stayed dead.

…

Tim stood against the door for a while after he'd said his peace to Jason. He knew that if he entered the threshold right now, the bed would be empty and Jason would be gone.

Without reason or direction, he began to walk down the hallway. Eventually he ended up at Dick's door. When he hobbled in, Bruce was already there with his older brother.

Tim collapsed into the nearest chair in a tangle of limbs.

"Are you all right, Timmy?" Dick asked from the bed. Bruce's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Are you not healing well, son?" Tim looked into the older man's eyes sadly.

"Jason is gone."

Bruce's entire frame went rigid, but he did not remove his hand, only tightened his grip.

"We all knew it would happen. We just have to give him space." Dick said logically.

"That's assuming he's thinking rationally. He's not," Bruce challenged.

Tim leant down to put his head in his hands. "I tried to talk to him, but he still left… I'm sorry, Bruce, I know how much this meant to you especially…"

Without warning, Bruce threw and arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "It will work out." He whispered, more to himself than to his sons.

"He's still injured and he's not thinking clearly… We have to find him, Bruce."

"I know."

The older man sobered, releasing Tim and making his way towards the door.

One way or another, Jason would be coming home tonight.

"I'll call Alfred and have him bring you boys home. Tell Damian to be on standby."

"Bruce?" Tim called his focus back momentarily.

"hmm?"

"Be safe."

Before Bruce could answer, the Television flared to life. Flickering at first, the device then displayed a masked man on screen.

"_Mr. Wayne, this is a warning. We have sights on your son, and don't think Batman will come to his rescue in time tonight. My associate may have failed, but I assure you: I will not. You have the coordinates, be there within the hour." _The screen cut to an image of Jason atop a building, standing absolutely still and with another man. This scum had a gun pointed at a civilian.

Jason would have no choice but to go with this new villain.

…

Batman scoured the city for half of his allotted hour in desperate agony. His mind raced through scenarios both new and old. His logical side kept spitting out facts and probabilities. His chances of finding Jason withered with each passing moment. Nonetheless, he kept searching.

With the help of Damian and Alfred he had narrowed it down to a single area: a deserted factory in crime alley.

All he had to do was get there in time.

He approached the warehouse now, but his mind kept hurling flashes of another warehouse at him. A warehouse that had blown up with his son still inside it. When he had stumbled on the remains of his son…

NO. _don't got there._

He pulled back, allowing the fresh air of the night cleanse the memories from him.

He let the Bat take over.

The Dark Knight landed silently on the roof of the building and, sensing the urgency of the matter, broke through the skylight.

The light that filtered through the building was dim, but he could still clearly make out the blood and gore. The man from the video lay on the floor, unconscious from the obvious rise and fall of his chest. The gunman from the video was on the floor as well, though he was still writhing in pain.

His arm was broken.

Jason was nowhere in sight.

Batman lifted the whimpering man from the ground and shook him. The man, Batman identified as Alvin Richards (an old gang member that had recently stepped down from the business) shook violently. "Where is Jason Todd-Wayne?"

"h-h-he got the better of us… He broke m-my arm… He… he left." Alvin's eyes gained more clarity, they gained a spark of thrill, of excitement. "I shot the bastard, right in the shoulder…" The look morphed back into fear when the Dark Knight's grip tightened painfully. "He staggered out, I don't know where he went… He was pretty shook up, kept talking about how he'd lost his 'second chances' or some shit."

Suddenly Alvin found himself flat on his ass and completely alone.

Bruce Wayne had taken over again.

…

Bruce knew where his son would go. For some reason, the place just stood out in his mind. Like there was a light telling him where to go without telling him why. He'd cut off all communication to the cave a long while ago, even going so far as to dig the com-link out of his ear and cast it away. He didn't have time for distractions tonight. His son needed him.

On many levels Bruce understood why Jason had left. That didn't change the fact that he was wounded and likely extremely vulnerable. He was probably still losing blood and was probably not thinking straight – a bad combination for Jason. In the past, such circumstances had led to a depression in the boy. Bruce would be a fool to believe anything had changed with age.

That's why when Bruce found Jason, he was standing on the very edge of Wayne Tower. Blood soaked his shirt and his eyes looked hollow and deadened. Out of all his time as Batman, Bruce had never been more terrified. The only other time he'd felt this was when Jason had been taken by the Joker. _Yes_, _like that time, only amplified_. He'd never been so close to catching a hold of his wayward son. And now, the scene was set for tragedy. Bruce didn't think he'd survive _this_ a second time.

He landed in a heap on the roof, and ripped the cowl away from him to reveal his face to Jason. Before he had the chance to coax his boy off the precipice, Jason was speaking. Something in his voice, be it the fear, the anxiety, or the undeniable _despondency_ in his tone, Bruce didn't know, but whatever it was made his heart pick up the pace in absolute horror.

"You ever feel like you're bein' held captive?" He looked into Bruce's emotion leaden blue eyes. "Like we're all just puppets being shoved around by some greater Force, no matter the lengths of depravity that being pushes you to?" He laughed humorlessly. "I get that feeling all the time, it's just like… like déjà vu. Dizzying and disorienting beyond your barest imagination. And it hurts at every single failed attempt."

The edge of the building was nearer now, the wind whipping at his dark hair. Suddenly Jason was shaking and wet rivulets flowed down his cheeks. His son took a shuddering breath and spoke, even though his voice broke in his throat. "I feel like I'm just the embodiment of the fucked up mind. I've become something irredeemable and ugly and I can't turn away from the demons in here." He pointed at his chest, his heart. "And every time I try I just wind up killin' off more and more of my sanity. The kid said he wanted to live up to my legacy… what legacy? I don't want that for him. I don't want that for anybody. I don't _deserve _it and neither does Tim."

Their eyes met again, this time both were full of tears. Jason moved back towards the egde "I can't keep doing this, Bruce. Not alone. I don't know what it's like to move on, but I'm afraid of it... Dad… I… I should have stayed buried." He fell to his knees, choking on the words, but Bruce was there before Jason could make one final leap over the side. His arms wrapped around his son.

His heart roared in his ears at those last words, at Jason's mad attempt at death. A deep ache took hold and his shoulders shook alongside Jason's with emotion. The silence on his part was a reflective one, and in an instant, the father in him whispered to his son. "Please. Don't ever think that. Believe me; I know how you feel, Jason. I've felt it every day since your death… The pain never went away for me… But I swear to you, I'm here. I'm not going to vanish and so help me god, I will _never_ allow _you_ to disappear. Your legacy… it's a worthy thing to pass on to both Tim and Damian… I can promise you that, Jason. Beyond that, you will always be my son. Nothing can break that. I won't let it, not ever again. I…" With a final thrust, Bruce purged all inhibitions from the Bat. Right now he had to be a father. "I love you, son."

Jason screamed, broken and fragile. Bruce could see it: the pain and the sorrow and the anger flowing out of him in that burst of air. His son shook and wept into his father's chest and Bruce only held him closer.

He could see it now. Bruce could finally see the boy buried inside of the rough exterior. He didn't know how he had ever missed it before, but he saw it clearly now.

Jason had always been the lost son, the one that was waiting for his father; and _Bruce,_ rather than the Dark Knight, had finally seen the Bat symbol reflecting in the sky.


	10. Home

**Sorry for the long wait, I have been trying to focus on one story at a time. Nonetheless… I just couldn't stay away from this one… ^^"**

**Anyways, enjoy and please leave a review… I need motivation… **

**Thanks!**

Chapter 10

Warmth. That was his first sensation. God, it was just so warm and comfortable. A bed. Clean. Safe. Like being held up close to someone that you thought you had lost a long time ago.

… oh wait…

Jason opened his eyes to see Bruce hunched over beside him in a chair that was much too small to suit his overbearing frame. Seeing the man up close after so long apart (the night before did _not_ count), Jason could clearly make out the lines of grief etched into his face. Each line seemed too forlorn for a man his age.

For a moment, just one, Jason's heart slowed and colored him with emotion. The night's events came to him and tears lit his eyes. His eyes tore around the room, and realization sparked. _His _room. It was chaotic with books and clothes strewn about, but at the same time each piece had a specific place. Organized. Dusty, dirty, but clean. It was exactly as he'd left it, the day he'd been murdered…

The gleam of metal shined through his mind, the overbearing pain of it… The grave, the cold, the horror… The isolation.

_Damnit._

Overwhelming.

_No_. He didn't want this, he couldn't deal with the rush of feelings that always came out when he was injured.

So, as well as it had worked out last time, Jason rose from the bed. He ignored everything but the window on the far side of the room. The curtains there billowed soundlessly, ominously with some unseen force of nature. The minute his foot touched the smooth tiles below, he was filled with a chilling sense of awareness.

His wounds were inconsequential – sure, they hurt like hell, but they could be ignored. His body pumped him with adrenaline and endorphins – the inner center of morphine – and Jason pressed on without a second thought until – Jason lifted his hands to his head, grasping the dark curls there and allowing the white flare rest under his palm. Tears tickled his eyes and Jason had to clench them tightly to avoid the irritation. He faltered, but managed to stay on his feet.

"Lie down."

Jason's head snapped around. _Bad idea, Jason,_ He thought, as his mind spun in around itself. He only just caught the corner of the bed to stop himself from falling face first to the floor.

"Please. Lie down, son."

Jason let his gaze drop. A command he could have – _would_ have – refused, but not this. Not a desperate and grief-stricken plea. He sat down and swallowed past the lump of bile that had risen in his throat. He let himself laugh humorlessly, hoping that he could fool Bruce. "So I'm guessing that heart-to-heart wasn't a bad nightmare, huh?"

"I almost lost you _again_, Jason. I will not bury you a second time."

Jason winced, he supposed he deserved that… then again he never had been able to keep his mouth shut when he should. "Hey, calm down. It's not like my death would have any profound effect on Gotham."

Bruce swiveled to look at him so quickly it made his head spin. The man leveled him with a sobered glare. "It would have killed me, Jason. If you had died…"

Jason didn't look at the older man, "Yeah, been there, done that."

"Stop it! Stop trying to brush this off, just like everything else. You're not hearing me!"

"Maybe I don't wanna listen."

That stopped him dead in his tracks. Bruce's jaw snapped closed and the two simply stared at one another for a while.

"You wanted proof… proof that I care… Well, now you have it." The older man stood up to leave, "Do with it what you will."

Jason turned away, and waited for Bruce to reach the door. His mind scrambled around like a headless chicken trying to come up with a lucid response. "Bruce… Dad… I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

Bruce took a deep breath, staring at him intently as though he were just waiting to disappear. "There's no need to apologize, Jason. You're home, that's all that matters." The man lips quirked up in something resembling a smile before turning away and closing the door behind him.

The matter was far from resolved, but Jason decided it wasn't worth the energy to argue. He relaxed visibly, straightening his back and loosening the muscles in his shoulders.

He fell asleep in a state that could only be considered peace. He was safe, he felt it. And maybe that was why it was so easy to think of this as _home_.

…

"I don't think we should push him," Bruce declared.

"Yeah, confrontation and all that. Whatever. What Jason needs is some serious reinforcement right about now. Possibly in the form of a few hugs… maybe a few group hugs..."

"Dick, shut up."

"Tim, _you_ shut up."

"how about both of you shut up, your ignorance is spreading like the plague" Damian said quietly.

The older boys fell silent, though both seemed deep in thought. Bruce sighed deeply, the day just seemed to drag on and on after Jason's arrival. The problem was a simple one: how were they going to bring Jason back into the fold, or, rather, how were they going to _keep_ him there?

"I think he just needs time and space," He said sagely. Bruce sat regally at the head of the table, hands atop one another in a display of his own contemplation. He wore a simple white collared shirt and formal black pants; he was in no mood to deal with the Bat's logical insubordination, so disassociation was best.

Dick snorted derisively, bringing Bruce back to the matter at hand, "Because that's worked _so_ well for the past few years." His eldest leaned back in the dining room chair with the practiced grace of an acrobat, balancing easily on one chair leg. He wore his own casual ware – though much less _casual_ than Bruce's. All Dick needed was Jeans and a black and blue T-shirt; of course the look wasn't complete without white socks and no shoes in sight.

"I think he's damaged…" Tim said matter-of-factly, crossing his legs atop his own chair in modest reflection. The boy copied his elder's style, though his shirt was a simple green color.

"I think we can safely dub you Captain Obvious, Drake." His youngest spat contentiously. The boy lay down on the table itself kicking his feet out from the edge every once in a while. He wore comfortable slacks and a red hoodie.

"We're all damaged. That's what makes us capable of taking up our nightly routines," Bruce whispered.

"I don't know, I think the little one can make it out all right." Dick smiled as he spoke, like he had happened upon some fortuitous circumstance. He ruffled Damian's hair despite the boy's protests. After that the room settled into a comfortable silence.

Tim arched his spine, allowing himself perfect posture, he broke the silence. "I have an idea!" He said excitedly. In a moment he was on his feet and practically jumping with exuberance. "Once he's better we work on a drug operation that needs busting. We'll say that the runners have been selling to schoolyards, which will definitely catch his attention… Then we all work together to bring them down!"

"One problem," Bruce said stoically, "Presently there are no drug operations of a large scale. Black Mask is still serving his sentence, and none of the new timers are willing to step up so soon."

Something dark and devious sparkled in Tim's eyes, and it made Bruce smile with paternalistic pride. "That's the beauty of it! It'll all be fake. We make Jay run in circles for a bit, if only to make him realize that we work well together, then we make a fake bust, and eureka! We've got a family."

Dick leaned back in his chair, once again balancing precariously. "It might just work. We'll have to hack into the Police network to show some uptake in drug busts, maybe some personell that _thought_ they saw a few deals at schoolyards… Yeah..." Bruce could see the wheels turning in his son's head, the idea taking shape and making a home for itself.

"I… may be willing to work on this." Damian said, though some excitement shone in his eyes.

Bruce sat back, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. He had built this, his family. The logical side of him cried out at the 'waste' of time and personal resources this endeavor would cost, but Bruce ignored that for now. Batman had no place at this table. "We can do this," he said confidently.

And his sons agreed.

They could bring the wayward son home for good.


	11. Plans Gone Wrong

**Happy Thanksgiving boys and girls… 8)**

Chapter 11

The large file landed on the bed with a small bounce, its papers only spilling slightly. The folder was blue and blended perfectly with the blue-gray color of the blanket. The owner of the file sat in his wheelchair at the foot of his bed, smiling like an idiot and staring expectantly into Jason's eyes.

"The hell?" he asked.

"It's a file."

"No shit Captain Obvious, Why is it on my bed?" Irritability had begun to leak into his voice, although some satisfaction also arose in naming the bed _his_. It had been a long time since _anything_ had been his.

Apparently Tim hadn't missed the particular pronoun choice, "It's on _your_ bed because it's not just any file." He waggled his eyebrows, but didn't elaborate further.

"you know, sometimes it's like you just say half of what you mean to and just expect other people to read your mind for the other half. Out with it, kid, what're you and the rest of them planning?"

"I don't know what you mean, Jason." The boy took on a quiet and reserved expression looking like a sweet and innocent kid in a candy shop. Well, he would, if he were looking at anyone but Jason Fucking Todd.

"Fucking snot," He said. The kid grinned and Jason decided that he liked Tim.

"Look it over, while you're here you might as well make yourself useful. After all, I am still confined to this chair…" He said sadly.

"Are you honestly pulling the poor cripple card on me right now?" Jason asked incredulously.

"That depends, did it work?"

Jason laughed, really laughed. It was strange to feel the air falling through his system so lightly, it was empowering. "Yeah kid, just get out of my room."

He cracked a crooked smile, nodded, and wheeled himself out of the room easily and swiftly. Jason simply relaxed back into his bed, moving the files to his bedside table in one lithe movement.

"What the hell did I just get myself into?" He said aloud. He didn't take the time to ponder it though; soon enough sleep happily overtook him.

…

The moment he exited the door he was beset by the other members of his family.

"did he buy it?"

"Did he seem all right?"

"Will he work with us?"

"Will he be physically capable of fighting alongside us?"

Their words swirled inside him and all of a sudden his mind felt cluttered and useless. It happened every once in a while and it was always annoying.

"would you all shut up? Seriously, guy in a wheelchair here!" Tim said, backing them all off about two steps.

"Wait, did you honestly just pull the cripple card on us?" Dick asked his little brother quietly.

"Yes."

"I fail to see how your leg being out of commission has any sway on your ability to hear and answer questions," Damian stated petulantly.

Tim turned a glare on the boy quickly, and then decided to respond in his own petulant way. "Yes, Yes, Yes, Damian you're an idiot, and yes."

Bruce nodded slightly, completely ignoring the comment in the middle about his youngest; Dick smirked off to the side, Damian glared, and Tim sat there awkwardly. It was a perfect Bat-family moment.

Emphasis on the _bat_.

"So, we've faked the files and we've lain out a paper trail from here to Bludhaven accounting the mysterious movements of one 'Gianni Valencie' an infamous drug peddler from Florida's even more infamous drug highway. Now what?" Dick asked sincerely, absentmindedly picking at the mahogany wood table at his side.

Tim let out another of his trademark smirks, looking directly at Bruce. "Now, now we wait, my brother."

…

The man had vibrant, dark features surrounded by skin of golden tone. He rolled his fingers over the shining ring on his forefinger with relaxed nonchalance. Emblazoned on the ring was the symbol of his own private troupe… his "business." He stretched himself out lazily, then swung forward with a sudden brutality that left a deep mark on the flesh of the dumb pig that had dared intervene in _his_ work.

"you see, Johnny, you screwed me over big time." He said, pacing without nervous ambition. He swung again, leaving another bloody mark. "Then again, you are from up north. Not much to be expected from you… Where did you say that place was? Gotham?" The man smiled sweetly as Johnny coughed up blood in a cornucopia of pain.

It was beautiful.

"I- I never meant to…" Another strike.

"You sold me out to the cops you arrogant asshole." He swung again. "I'm thinking a change of pace is in order."

He turned abruptly, motioning for his men to take over. Johnny's screams could be heard even after the mobster's right-hand man had closed the door behind them.

"Where to now, Sir?"

"I'm thinking we need to move to a place with seasons… More so than this Florida town." He smiled again. "Yes, I'm thinking Gotham is the right place for us."

His man grinned back and after opening his car door Mr. Gianni Valencie was on his way to Gotham City.


	12. Raillery

**So… references to several works here… hee… also, did anyone read the latest RHATO? XD I'm. yeah. Anyways, here it is! Please Read and Review.**

Chapter 12

"Goddamn! Did you read what happened to this guy? Parents dead at an early age, one from overdose, then years later he finally has the chance to move on with his new girlfriend and some psycho freak pushes drugs into her system? How fucking traumatizing would that be? Fuck! What a life." He said flipping the newspaper down before the tale could sicken him further.

"I don't know, the beginning kinda sounds like you… only this guy didn't have Bruce…"

Jason threw Tim an incredulous look, "He also didn't have to die early and come back to life."

"Point." Tim paused long enough to gaze into the distance semi-thoughtfully, though Jason figured that was just to gather up enough snark for his next comment. "not to rub it in or anything, but your life sucks."

"Tell me about."

"well first there was the incident with-"

a light punch to the arm shut his mouth before Tim could go on, but the two were smiling as Jason moved his fingers over the file once more. The brothers had been waiting for Bruce and their two remaining brothers to return for a serious family meeting. Except, y'know, instead of talking about their days they would be talking about a notorious Italian drug lord who had just relocated his friendly neighborhood meth labs to Gotham. Jason had already decided that he liked Tim, as the witty teen went back and forth with their own brand of raillery.

"so how long have we been waiting?" Tim asked abnormally, a devious smile playing on his lips.

"an hour or so, you know that." Jason replied, though he knew his brother was planning some sort of trick or game.

"Statement. One – Love."

"Huh?"

"We're playing a game, don't you know the rules?" Tim said.

"No."

"Statement, two– love." Tim's smile was positively irritating now.

"The hell?"

"Don't you know the rules?" Tim asked again.

"Repetition, two – one." Jason smiled, catching on quickly.

"huh?" confusion filled his brother's features.

"Foul! No grunts. two – all."

"How did you catch on so quickly?" Tim asked.

"How could I not?" Jason squared his shoulders, leaning forward to speak to Tim on equal terms.

"what do you mean?"

"What does anything mean?"

"Foul! No rhetoric! Three – two, one game all." His brother announced triumphantly, waving his hands in the air like a maniac. Jason punched his shoulder and the two were about to start a battle-royale – Jason Todd would not be shamed out of kicking the ass of a snobbish wheel-chair-bound idget – when a slight cough set them both back to their seats immediately.

Standing in the doorway were three sets of eyes, all sharp blue and with a glimmer of laughter at the center.

Tim coughed awkwardly, "um… we were just… reviewing the case."

Dick entered the room with a stride of confidence and bounced on the bed with a simple grace that just should _not_ be possible for a male. "right, and I'm Santa."

Something changed in the room immediately and all of a sudden Jason was unsettled and anxious. They all seemed to notice and react to his stress by spreading out and then focusing their attention on the case.

"So have you two reviewed the facts?" Dick asked with trepidation.

"yeah, since you guys were taking your sweet time out there, Tim and I went over everything. I just have one question." Jason said, turning to look directly at Bruce. "Why do you need _me_ on this?"

Dick cleared his throat, speaking before Bruce had a chance to, "We would usually have Tim research big cases like this, and I suppose he still could, but you _are_ the resident all-knowing-drug-vigilante." He paused before going on, "err… that is, you've been involved in the drug trade before, you would know the most about it."

Damian sat apart from them, listening but not interacting. In fact, the boy had barely spoken to him since Jason came to the manor. He was about to change all that. "by 'involved' you mean 'running.' He's a criminal, I don't see how you all don' see that."

"It would be nice to do this one thing as a family." Tim said, looking anywhere but at Jason.

"-Tt- if you were looking for a family why don't you go back to your little tower, Drake."

"Shut up Damian, I'm seriously not in the mood to deal with your shit!" Tim exclaimed. It was true, he'd had an amazing day of slouching in his chair and talking with his two older brothers, he just didn't want that ruined by the brat. Now the youngest wanted to stir up trouble? Well he wasn't biting.

Instead Tim swiftly switched subjects and turned to Dick, who had been in the cave all night relaying information to the Dynamic Duo. "How's the shoulder?" He asked loud enough for Damian to catch the hint.

Dick rolled his shoulder slightly and, to Jason and Tim's amazement, he did not wince at all. "I've always healed pretty quickly," he said, a shy smile swiped across his face.

"Right, well. We should get to work then." Bruce said, calling their attention back to the case. Typical.

"If you ask me, which I think you are, I'd say this Gianni fellow is downtown. Let's go get him." Jason said, completely serious in nature.

"We can't just 'go get him' we have to gather evidence to show that he is the main runner."

"He's not, but we can learn what we can from his 'associates'. They will be down there too."

Bruce gave his second eldest a look, "What do you mean he's not the one in charge? All the evidence points to him."

Jason glared at his once-father-figure. "Don't play dumb, Bruce. Dick said it first, I _am _the resident expert on this and any idiot would know that Gianni is in Florida. He runs the I-95 drug trade. He would never move to Gotham without specific reason, and even then he would send a subordinate first."

Tim turned pale as soon as the words had sailed out of his mouth, but Jason continued nonetheless. "I've been looking into this man for quite a while. Several hundred people have been slaughtered recently, but he has never really been readily visible. He's not the main man here. If anyone is running the drug trade in Gotham it would be someone within his organization, but not Gianni himself."

Some color returned to Tim as he realized that Jason had not found them out, only made a jump in the case from step one to step three. Tim turned to Dick and smiled.

Their plan was going off without a hitch.


	13. A Lesson in Hoarding

**Hey! Yes, this update took an obscene amount of time to finish, but here it is… and look! It's longer than it would normally be! So don't kill me? The next chapter will be from the perspectives of Bruce, Tim, Dick, and maybe a little bit of Jason here and there. Mainly Tim and Dick. So, don't worry.**

**Lol until next time, please fuel me with reviews? Pretty please? **

**Anyways, enjoy. **

Chapter 13

The backpack stood stuffed to the brink on the counter. He'd been rummaging through the house for things all morning. By 'things' he meant food. A holdover from his days on the streets, Jason couldn't help but be constantly looking for his next meal. He wasn't hungry by any means, but the impulse to hoard food was often too strong to overcome. And besides… he couldn't be sure if the food at his place was still salvageable.

So… the bag.

He definitely wasn't running. That was not something that Jason Todd did. But, if he spent one more night here he might go insane. It wasn't the family members. They had all been… they'd been great. Making him feel like he was half-way normal…

The problem was that he was not, by any means, normal. And to have some form of family again… It scared him. That would make these people, these _good_ people into something he had associated so long with abandonment and pain. A family would also represent all the things Jason still had left to lose.

Better not to get attached.

Except… He _was_.

All of a sudden they were all connected by Bruce, by Alfred, by the manor, and by the suite. There was no denying that. Jason found that he was truly afraid of what would happen when one or all of those connections were severed, he found that the idea was both foreign and unwanted.

Better to snap those strings before they take root.

"what are you doing?"

Jason nearly dropped the can of pears in his hand when the Bat approached, his steps as cleverly concealed as ever. But when he turned to face the older man, it wasn't Batman. Just Bruce, clear and exposed in plain pajamas.

It was with this in mind that Jason swiveled back to the cabinets. "Packing."

"Food?"

"Yup."

He could practically feel curious, possibly worried eyes boring into his back. "Why?"

"why not?"

An awkward silence swallowed up the room, making each of them uncomfortable. Jason stopped what he was doing, figuring that he should give the man a chance to speak if he had come all the way here at – he checked the grand clock in the center of the room – one a.m. The man looked deep in contemplation, which of course gave Jason a terrible rising feeling in his chest.

"I remember when you first came to the manor," Oh _no._ "The first night I found you rummaging through the cabinets ad packing a backpack just like the one you're packing now. When I asked whay you were doing you said the same exact thing; just 'packing'" he paused, seeming to think fondly on their shared memory. "I think that was the first moment where I truly worried about you, the first moment where I saw you as a son."

For some reason that was incomprehensible to Jason, a lump rose in his throat. He remembered that time. He'd been afraid that Bruce would get rid of him soon, so a preemptive strike on their pantry had been the only viable option. That's when Bruce had knelt down in front of him and said the one thing that made the manor feel a little less like a foster home and more like… home. "I only counted as a son while I lived under this roof, when you were still responsible for me."

"That's not true. You _know_ that's not the case. Even after your return…"

"You wanted to toss me in the loony bin with my murderer!" His fists clenched at his sides, anger and resentment welling up to match the intensity of the previous anguish.

"I thought it would help you in the long run, you –"

Jason took a step back just as Bruce reached a hand out, he spurned the olive branch, wanted to rip it apart. The pain in his chest doubled, it rose into his eyes along with a glint of insane fear. "I'm not crazy."

But that was the source of all the doubt in the past year, the source of strife between them. Jason knew there was something wrong inside, he was reassured of it each and every time he closed his eyes and awoke in the middle of a nightmare, – the same nightmare, really – the one that haunted him and hinted at the sound of metal skinning flesh. It whispered of that godforsaken laughter, and then the dark, enclosed space of the coffin. _His _coffin. But he buried the feeling, the rise of madness. He'd been burying it since the moment that he'd dug his way out of his own grave.

And it hurt. He could feel the pain of insanity like he could still physically feel the dirt under his nails, the wetness of blood beneath him…

Bruce's hand landing in his shoulder was what brought him out. For a moment the disorientation was nauseating. Like waking from a dream without knowing exactly when you'd fallen asleep. Without knowing why, Jason's hand reach up to grasp Bruce's forearm in a vice grip. Like it or not, the older man was his only life line right now.

"No. You're not. But you're hurt. I can see it in the way you walk, the way that you try to hide your emotions. I know you care about us, you care about this family – you _want_ a family. Just like the rest of us, we need each other." His voice was sincere, solid and dependable. It was… What a father's voice should sound like. "I know we're not the model for good family life, but we're trying – because each of us needs one another – and I know I'm not exactly suited to being a father, but… "

Jason's eyes snapped to Bruce's deep blue ones, shock evident in his teal eyes. "No!" He paused, taking a breath. "It's not about that… It's never been about that. I just… Every time I've tried to have something, a family or whatever, it's ended with pain. I… I can't go through that anymore. Not again."

"Jason… What happened with Sheila wasn't your fault."

"It's not just about her. My dad, my _biological_ parents both left me for dead," He felt the need to clarify the difference between them and Bruce. "Catherine got sick because of me; _you_ were hurt because of me. It's a vicious cycle when I'm involved."

"That's what happens with family, Jason. We hurt each other, we fight, but we also build each other up. We're the fall back if you're hurt and the reason to keep fighting."

Jason had to laugh aloud at that one, though the sound hit the air without humor or exclamation at all. "And you'd accept me back with open arms, after all I've done?"

Bruce stepped forward, opened his arms in a sweeping gesture. It was relaxed and seemed to invite security. "That's what you've never really understood, Jason. In this house… we don't keep score."

And the idea was absolutely foreign to his ears. On the streets, you knew exactly who owed you what, it was one thing that kept you alive for the next day – one favor could mean the difference between going to bed hungry or on a full stomach… how could that not matter to them?

"I – I don't understand."

"And until you do, don't you think you owe it to yourself to figure it out?" Bruce smiled, lightly squeezing his son's shoulder in reassurance. "Stay for a while. At least until the mission is done. Then make your choice."

Jason didn't respond, casting his gaze away from the eyes of his former mentor. Bruce patted his shoulder, then moved away and left Jason feeling even more confused and rattled than he had felt in almost a year.

Jason employed his age-old, well-proven idiom, the one that had served him well since his first day on the streets. He took a deep breath and on the release he muttered the words: "ah, fuck it."

…

They were all suiting up when Jason walked into the room, Dick Grayson becoming Nightwing, Tim Drake changing into Red Robin, and Damian Al Ghul-Wayne turning into Robin. The only person absent was the most important one; Bruce. The Batmobile was gone as well indicating that the Bat was out of the cave.

"Where'd he run off to?" He asked, plopping down into the grand chair that made him uncomfortable to sit in even now. It was something about it being _Batman's _chair.

Damian clicked his tongue, "Out of the chair, Todd."

Before Jason could offer a snippy response, another voice spoke up.

"He just left, not sure where or why, but he's been gone for an hour or so." It was Tim who spoke as he lifted the final touch of the Red Robin persona to his face, the domino mask*.

"The specs for the mission are open on the computer, if you wanted to look at them," Dick said. His face was absolutely sincere. In fact, his face was so genuine it almost made Jason want to punch the bastard.

Instead, he turned to the computer. As much as he hated the idea of working with these people, he wasn't about to let the bat squad run rampant in Gotham when this new player could be potentially very dangerous, especially for the youth of their city.

He scrolled through the files with a bored expression plastered on his face, though under the surface the gears in his head were spinning wildly. In a matter of minutes he had mapped out all the possible locations where the Mobster might be hiding, broken down the different members of the gang into manageable sections, and stumbled upon an interesting report that spoke of a certain Kingpin arriving from Florida late last week.

He had just enough time to wrap up his findings and forward the information to the Bats before the ever-familiar sound of the Batmobile's engine blared away as it entered the cave.

When the thing was parked, Jason heard the echo of Robin's feet stepping closer and closer to the automobile. Then the unmistakable sound of the door sliding away from the vehicle. Then the voice. "Jason."

He was waiting for the older man to yell, to tell him, as Damian had said earlier, 'out of the chair, Todd.' But he didn't. It seemed that Bruce was simply waiting for him to turn around.

Jason obliged slowly but surely. And there was his Red Hood outfit, straight and handsomely displayed between Batman's fingers. "What are you doing with that?" Was all he could come up with under the circumstances. He felt he'd elucidated his confusion well enough, so he sat back and waited for some form of explanation from Bruce.

"We're going on patrol."

"Since when does '_we'_ include _me_?"

"Since you came through the Batcave as a child, _twice_."

The older man looked practically fucking smitten with himself; he even had the goddamned smile to match it. Jason rose in one aggressive movement, launched himself forward and snatched away the outfit before Bruce or any of the others could say a word. He took a look at the armored suite carefully, assessing any damage and folding the tan leather jacket over his fingers fondly. When he looked back up Bruce and all the others were staring at him expectantly.

He'd be damned if he didn't get something out first though.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Jason asked.

Bruce smiled, no… the goddamned _Batman_ smiled and to Jason the upward twitch of the mouth seemed so out of place there.

Jason released a sigh of resignation and placed his red domino mask across his eyes.

…

It was in the dead of night that the bats descended. With talons outstretched, the small group hunted for their prey. Each sound was registered and like the gears of a well-oiled machine they were moving in perfect synchronization.

Jason was the first to land on the North side building. It was stable enough, though obviously a gilded thing – part of it had collapsed years ago mainly due to the owner's using materials that were not within code. The walls had caved in on three families, two with children under the age of five. The first time Jason had heard the story, as a young Robin, he'd felt a terrible sense of loss… When he had come back the feeling had intensified. Those children had died with the walls coming down around them – their last moments were ones of horror and fear and pain. Jason could definitely relate.

Though he had felt a great deal more pain than they had.

The wind flowing through his hair was a nice, solid change from feeling the containment of the helmet. In all honesty, the red hood was always meant to be a reminder of how he came back into the world – surrounded on all sides and bordering on the line between breathing freely, being alive, and suffocating behind layers of wood and dirt… He took a deep breath, taking in the miscellaneous mix of scents that was just _Gotham._ He had just released his lungful of air when Nightwing's quiet steps echoed behind him. He could practically feel the disturbance in the night, the rustling of molecules that hinted at the arrival of Gotham's once and future birds. And one bat.

His skin began to crawl when Dick's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Hey, you alright?"

Jason shrugged off the offending hand with only a slight muttered "hmph." The boys formed a close-knit semi-circle around the ledge, hoping to see through the bustle of the city to the world below them.

"are you sure you're up for this, Hood?" Tim asked, concern obvious in his voice – the brat was too nice.

"You'd better be up for it, you donned the suit," Damian muttered. Jason smiled slightly, their group complete – the brothers and the Robins. It was almost too good to be true, they were all being amicable. They (Damian and Jason) hadn't killed anything (yet), and Bruce hadn't ruined it.

"hood. You know the rules." It was Bats. He had ruined it.

"It's a small one. You said 'never let yourself get backed into a corner'. This is me making sure I don't get into a corner place."

"You'll have us. Hand it over."

"I've 'had' you at my back before, with horrible results that involved a crowbar."

Bruce flinched, only slightly visible above the surface. Jason sighed, closing his eyes momentarily as his brothers stepped a foot away at the obvious tension in the air. He didn't say he was sorry, that wasn't his M.O., but he reached into his jacket to reveal a small pistol. He emptied it with hurried, annoyed flicks of his wrist before handing it over, grip first, to Bruce.

With the moment soured, the boys turned their attention back to the city. _Their _city. What a thought.

"Red Robin, Hood. You two will be heading to the East end near the port to search for any signs of activity. Nightwing, I need you and Robin to go to the West side and see what you can find out from the local peddlers."

"What?" The outraged voice of one short boy exclaimed.

"I need you to provide backup for Nightwing. I need to check something out and I'd rather do it on my own."

"typical," Jason said.

"Why is it that you spend so much time alone, it really isn't healthy for a man your age, B." That was Tim, using that wise-ass mouth of his to draw the infamous glare from the Bat.

"Babysitting it is," Nightwing said, laughing as he said it. The eldest of the birds jumped from the rooftop, sliding his grappling hook out easily. Damian, always quick to anger, raged for a moment before following his older brother into the night.

Jason laughed, really _laughed _before he and Tim were in the air, moving about and ready to begin a mission as a team – one singular unit ready for anything. If truth be told, he was glad to have people at his side. Whether they turned out to be family or not, it was still a relief.

Bruce watched as his boys disappeared into the shadows, just as he'd trained each of them to do. He couldn't help the smile that touched his lips as he saw them. Altogether (in groups of two), safe (fairly), happy (though somewhat aggressive), and fighting on the same side.

It was a good feeling that rose in his chest, one that was altogether foreign to the Bat, but reminded Bruce something of what he'd felt for Alfred when the old man had been everything to him. It was only after that feeling passed that Bruce was able to refocus his efforts.

He was just about to launch himself off the building when a message came in over the com.

"_Sir, can you hear me?"_

"Yes A, what is it," The façade of Batman clicked into place immediately, all paternal emotions aside, he did have a city to protect and Alfred did not use the private line with him unless something dire had happened.

"_Sir… reports have been released that there was a jail break at Arkham Asylum." _Bruce's blood froze in his veins at the words, his body ceasing all movement as Alfred continued, "_It has been confirmed that the Joker has escaped…"_

***I'm using the new 52 version of both Jason and Tim's personas. Nightwing's outfit is going to be the same as it was before the new 52 reboot (I liked the contrast he drew from the other Robins). **

**Also! Leave a review, will ya?**


	14. The Joke is on You

**Yes. I know. This is extremely late. I just read Red Hood and the Outlaws 17 and… dear goodness I was dying. I think I may have cried. Maybe. It was what motivated me to start writing these again… that and a few well-written reviews.**

**SPOILERS AND RANTING (semi) RHATO: I had to tweet the writer and tell him about this cool spray-on-skin thing the medical community has developed and that if Jason's face is not restored through the use of this (you know, Bruce is freaking rich, right? So he should be able to afford this shit) I'm just gonna stop reading the issues. Seriously I can't even believe this?!jkndhfbefhaefh nejkfhweFJA**

****anyways, read, enjoy, and please leave a review if you would like to read more. Thanks!**

Chapter 14

Gianni Valencie stood very still behind his desk. His men had suggested it, they had sworn up and down that this was what they needed. Now, though, looking straight forward into those black, soulless eyes… He wished he had never come to this godforsaken city.

A maniacal laugh rippled through the blood-stiffened air.

His men were all dead. All those that had followed from Florida. Gianni's eyes narrowed, it was a sad day when he had to associate with a madman.

A smile ripped across the man's face, flashing bloody teeth. "Well. Now that we have the blood flowing, good afternoon and welcome to Gotham!" He laughed again, raising a hand to clasp the purple suit he wore.

Gianni's eyes fell to the decaying bodies of his executives scattered across the floor. "let's dispense with the cordialities. What do you want?"

The man let out an insane little giggle, sounding infantile and irreverent in a way that Gianni had never been spoken to. "What do I want? Oh…" He smiled again, sending waves of nausea through Gianni. "I want the same thing you do. To be rid of the Bat family." There was something altogether more menacing in his voice now. "All the birdies are back in town and I think it's about time Uncle Jay gives them a visit."

The man was psychotic. He had to be. A complete nut job. "You're a psychopath."

The Joker's smile returned full force, lit with insanity. "Oh, come now. I don't call YOU names, do I? Well, it feels like we just met!" He broke into intense laughing fits, and then straightened – completely sobered. "So, dear mobster… Why so serious?"

Gianni, for the first time in his life, felt truly afraid. Turns out, it would be a night filled with firsts. Gianni sucked in a deep breath as he mentally braced himself to make a deal with a deadly demon.

…

Dark shadows clung to his figure, even as he tried to step into the light. He anticipated his son's anger, the boy's fear. Immediately after Alfred's contact, Bruce had recalled his soldiers – Jason and Tim. From the rooftop he could clearly make out his two boys shifting from building to building in their personas of the Red Hood and Red Robin.

When they landed before him, Bruce's anxiety tripled. All his logical theories, all the heavy-handed ideals went out the window when Jason's eyes met his through the masks. Honesty was the best policy right? Bruce had lied to the boy before, it had never worked well. So, should he tell him the truth now? What would happen to Jason if he did?

"B? What's going on? We were almost to the warehouse when you wheeled us around." It was Tim who spoke, his voice logical and analytic as ever.

In the end, Bruce was never really logical when it came to Jason Todd. He blurted out the information. "Joker is on the loose."

Whatever reaction he had been expecting from his boys never came. Jason went very still; no tremors, no angry outburst, just deadly calm. His hands were flat at his sides and no emotion broke through to the surface. Bruce could only assume that his time with the All Caste had allowed Jason the mercy of compartmentalizing.

It was Tim who spoke. "When?"

"Alfred contacted me shortly after we separated. The Joker broke out the minute he heard the _Wayne_ family was back together in Gotham." Bruce chose his words carefully, unsure whether Jason would make a move, and wary of the consequences.

Tim looked back and forth between his father-figure and Jason. There was something altogether more violent about Gotham now. The air seemed thicker, the clouds gathering dangerously above them. Everything inside them was rebelling, telling them to run away before something could tear apart everything they had built.

They didn't move, though. Bruce and his boys stared at one another, waiting for one of them to say or do anything.

"Well. What are we going to do? Have you warned Nightwing and Robin?" Red Robin insured he used their persona's, calling their attention back to the hero façade the men needed to uphold, for now.

"I haven't had the chance. I felt you needed to know first," Bruce looked pointedly at Jason as he spoke.

Still, the Red Hood said nothing.

"What's our next move?" Again, Tim brought the attention away from the family's personal drama and back to their city.

Batman took over immediately, possessing Bruce and pushing logic to the forefront. "I want the two of you to patrol the south side, keep an eye out for clues that the Joker is back to his old tricks," He paused, a piece of Bruce breaking free momentarily. "Be careful. Contact me if anything goes wrong."

Tim nodded, prodding Jason to get the older boy's attention. Jason shook himself, as though he were coming out of deep water – his breath hitched in his throat. Tim stepped back, looking at his older brother with something akin to worry. "Look, whatever is going on, you two need to work it out before we go any further. If you need me, I'll be waiting for you on the adjacent rooftop." Tim hopped away, clearly going out of earshot.

Jason's eyes fell to the ground, more in defiance than the shy emotion it seemed.

Bruce surfaced then, shoving aside the rational side momentarily. "Are you alright?"

The boy shifted, his blue-green orbs coming up to meet Bruce's beyond the masks. "Why didn't you kill him, B? You put this city at risk by doing nothing."

And there it was. The elephant in the room – the main question that had been eating away at both of them for far too long. Bruce couldn't answer him the way Jason deserved, the way the father hiding deep inside wanted him to respond. So, instead, he deflected by asking an equally serious question. "Why do you kill?"

Jason's eyes narrowed in what was the first real show of emotion Bruce had seen so far. The shadows intensified all around them, growing greedy at the sight of their tension. Soon it was just the two of them, father and son, staring each other down in an impossible battle of wills. Jason seemed to sober, the anger dissipating as he spit out a small parcel of words. "Because it's permanent."

Bruce froze, staring into his son's face as the young man began to tremble. In that moment, he looked so much like the lost little boy from so long ago. Vulnerability clawed at his insides and tore his defenses to pieces. The despair in his eyes burned past the red domino mask, lighting up the sky in their childish fury. The father in him screamed at the Bat, cried out for action, cried out that the injustice done to his son could be rectified now, here.

But he couldn't move. In the end, Batman had his pride and Jason had his. Both respected the other, and neither would allow any sign of comfort to shine through – one of them was sure to break if that were allowed.

They both understood, both could see the pain enriching the shadows. It was too much to handle.

Then, Jason was gone. The young man launching off the rooftop with reckless abandon.

…

Damian put one foot in front of the other, moving with lightning speed across the rooftops of his city. Grayson had been left behind in his dust. The boy began to smile just thinking about it, the moment Nightwing had walked into the main hideout for Black Mask's employed peddlers, Damian had been off. "babysitting" Father had said. The thought made him shake with anger – he was no child. He was the son of _Batman_, and he would not be assigned to menial tasks such as this. No, he'd go straight to the source – he was going to go with Drake and Todd, he was going to be there with them when Jason did his work. Whatever his qualms with the older man, Damian wasn't about to lose an opportunity to watch the second Robin work. That way he could decide once and for all whether or not Damian Al Ghul enjoyed the presence of Jason Todd.

But when his feet landed squarely atop the warehouse, his heart all but stopped. He heard the charge of electrocution beneath him, felt how the air became hot and hard to breathe. Damian was no fool, he knew exactly what this meant, there just wasn't enough time to angle his body away from the trap.

"shit," He hissed out.

Blue waves of electricity arced through the boy, dancing across his skin and singing in his bones. He'd felt this pain before, but now it seemed so much worse. He was about a mile away from the selected rendezvous point with Drake and Todd. He was alone. No hero could help him now.

Damian shook with the agony, feeling the waves of lightning burning him up inside. He cried out, too much.

Finally, the convulsions subsided. Black dots spread across his field of vision, widening further and further until he could see nothing.

"Father…" he whimpered, his voice dying along with his body.

…

"what do you mean _gone_?" Batman growled into the receiver.

"_He took off the minute I walked into Black Mask territory. I was jumped by goons, there was no way I could get after him right away… This was supposed to be a clean surveillance, no guards involved… When I managed to shake them…"_

"Out with it!" He barked. His nerves were already fraying after the confrontation with his second child, now Damian was missing too.

"_I tracked him to the warehouse where J and T were supposed to be, but they weren't there. What I _did _find, however, was not good." _Dick paused, unsure of how to break the news even as he frantically searched the neighboring rooftops for his brothers. "_I found evidence of a trap. A good one."_

There was a sinking feeling forming deep in Bruce's gut. It had been there when he had left the theater that night with his parents, it had resurfaced when he had left Jason, and now…

"What did you find." Not a question, an intent demand, coming from a separate line – Tim's voice. There was no accusation in that steady tone, no rough anger towards Bruce for recalling them and possibly putting their youngest member at risk.

"_I found Little D's utility belt. And…" _Dick swallowed audibly over the connection, "_A joker card_."

"_I knew it. This was a setup!_" Jason's voice, now. Gruff and full of fear.

Gun shots echoed wildly on one end of the com link. Bruce made out the whisper of pain and uncertainty. Fear slammed into him hard and fast, words repeating in his head like a mantra. _No, no, no…_

"_Shit_!" Tim. Tim and Jason were in danger. Bruce changed course, heading towards them immediately. He couldn't lose them. He couldn't lose any of them.

"_B? Tell me where to go_!"

"_Tim_!" Jason's voice, panic stricken, pained. Jason was using his son's real name, not the alias of Red Robin.

Bruce's feet hit the pavement faster, the urgency in Jason's voice mixing with the fear swirling in his belly. "Southside. I'm sending you coordinates."

How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

"_I'm on my way. Hold on, all of you!"_

The com link went very quiet, the gunshots stopping abruptly as a single sound stole their attention. Bruce cringed inwardly, his insides boiling with hatred and fear. The ghastly laugh of a demon, the sadistic cackle of the Joker.

The silence in the aftermath was shattered when he heard a sound terrifyingly foreign to his ears – it was Tim.

It was an agony-filled scream.

**Quite the cliffhanger, no? what can I say, I live to please. 8D Now leave a review. Please? If you want more? **


	15. A New Kind of Pain

**OK. Next chapter. And look! It's longer than what I usually send out. 8D perchance it will appease the reviewers? Please? Hiatus over…**

**Anyways, After writing this I think I had to take like three showers to feel clean again. Sorry, it just had to be written this way. Please enjoy!**

Chapter 15

_A few weeks ago…_

"_It was found, just a few nights ago, that the man behind the kidnapping of Bruce Wayne's children was murdered." _The woman on screen gestured behind her_. "It was in this alleyway that Batman, the self-proclaimed hero of the city, attacked the man and left him brutally injured. Before police arrived, but apparently after the departure of the Bat…"_

His fist slammed on the pearly white table, his hands shaking with overwhelming anger. The Bat had been pushed to nearly killing someone… and it _hadn't_ been _him?_ Now that just wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

No, no. _NO._

His mind jumped through hoops to organize itself, a process that was restarted every time he felt an emotion surge along the unused pathways. The man twisted his head to both sides in a quick, neurotic gesture as a frown curved across his face. There was something deadly sneaking its way out of the man's hands, something that was all too willing to kill.

His world was suddenly so dull, the white seeming too white, the grey seeming too dreary. He lacked excitement. There truly was no enrichment in this place.

Bored.

That was the feeling.

It slithered along his insides and made him fidget wildly. The Bat had almost killed at the expense of his little Birds…

Oh, the birds…

The man could just make out the chirping of them… the sound of their bones being crushed under the weight of a certain metal object. Thinking about it now brought a rush of unexpected exhilaration. When he had killed that one lonely little Robin…the joy he had felt as the child's life drained away. That was why he liked to keep the children he was going to kill alive – until they were dead, that was – he liked to see them writhing on the ground, looking for escape when there was none. Most of all, he loved it when the light went out in their eyes. When the realization dawned that they were going to suffer and die.

Learned helplessness was a beautiful thing, one that the Joker enjoyed bringing out in others.

The longer the torture dragged on, the better.

The memory of a certain little bird's life dripping away all over the floor brought some color back into his world. Just the thought of the velvet softness of his blood, sent shivers of excitement running down the Joker's spine.

Some would call him depraved, other a sociopath – the professionals said "antisocial personality disorder" with a touch of broken reality tossed in for spice. It was what kept him from the death penalty, so who was he to argue?

The Joker smiled, thinking of the broken little bird. Then he remembered, that Robin had come back! What an opportunity. Now, at first the Joker had seen the boy's return as an insult, but maybe it was just another gift. A gift from the Bat, _for_ the Bat! Another chance to ruin him. To break someone, to watch their life force bleed out, that was one thing. But to do it twice? Oh… the Joker was already making plans.

Maybe this time he could include the whole family!

He smiled again, just as his favorite orderly arrived, swaying hips and all. "Time for your medicine, Mistah Jay!"

Oh yes, this would be fun indeed.

…

_Present_

When the bullets started flying, Jason had reacted solely by relying on instinct. He dodged as many as he could, even as several grazed his wide shoulders. He pulled Tim with him as he went, moving along the outskirts of what was now a warzone. There was something uniquely foreign swirling in him, forcing him to keep Tim close, to ensure that his little brother remained unharmed.

"Shit," He hissed over the com link. He looked to his brother momentarily as the boy scanned their surroundings. Jason knew Tim was making plans, letting those gears churn until some master idea came loose. The bullets were still flying, slamming into the wooden crates protecting them and sending splinters crashing through the air. Jason only wished he had his gun.

He turned to the side of the nearest box in an attempt to see clearly exactly how many goons he and Tim would have to deal with. It was only when he turned back that he realized Red Robin was gone. He was about to utter another profanity when he spotted him. The boy was making his way around the next side of crates, trying to get a better angle.

But Jason saw what Tim couldn't. That pasty white face. The sinister sneer. And this warehouse was so much like the one he had been trapped in…

"Tim!" No thought for aliases now. Jason got up, tried to move towards him, to warn him, but there wasn't any time. The boy's attention was immediately swiveled back to Jason, too late.

Jason vaguely heard the chatter of voices over the com link, heard panic in a usually calm and logical voice. That was when it really hit home that history was repeating itself, only this time Jason would not die alone.

The Joker had a crowbar. _The _crowbar. And he had a gun.

"_I'm on my way. Hold on, all of you,"_ Bruce. How little he'd learned.

Jason's veins turned to ice, terror filling his features and allowing him to block out everything. He watched as the Joker swung that godforsaken metal object at his little brother. Watched as Tim slammed into the pavement. Listened as the crowbar came down again, snapping ribs. The gunshots stopped, the Joker laughed high and proud.

Then the scream. Tim's voice ringing out into the night.

"No!" Jason cried out, rushing the Joker even as the madman brought the metal bar up for another swing. Tim couldn't be subjected to this. He would break. Both of them would.

That was what the gun was for.

The madman leveled the weapon at Jason, the wicked smile still carved into his face. "Bring out the other little bird."

It didn't take long before Damian was thrown to the ground next to Tim. Damian looked torn to pieces, beaten, broken, His body like a ragdoll on the ground. He was awake though, he was struggling to sit up. Tim coughed, clutching at his chest painfully as he floundered over to lay protectively closer to the youngest member of the family, defensively placing his body between the Joker and the younger boy.

"Bruce," Jason whispered. Even to his own ears the raspy sound came out very small, very broken.

"_I'm making my way to you. Hold on, Jason."_

He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. Bruce's voice sounded so strong and logical, like the Bat was back in control, not the father. "He has them both. He's going to have me too." The last part was filled with absolute terror. Panic was working its way through his body and Jason's breathing hitched as he struggled to breathe.

"Jaybird! How wonderful to see you again. May I call you Jaybird? I'm going to call you that." The Joker laughed again, fueling the fear swirling inside him.

Jason wasn't even in the room. He was back in that place, the warehouse where he died. With each laugh Jason could feel his bones breaking, the silver shining in the air as it came down to shatter him. Tears came to his eyes, the horror of the phantasm haunting his every breath.

"_Jason. Calm down. I need you to be strong." _Batman, again.

Jason channeled his father's voice, taking the force of will he needed from it. Vaguely it occurred to Jason that his father and older brother could hear everything that was going on.

"I tell you it's been plaguing me since you came back," The Joker said. "you escaped my perfectly planned finale! You were able to come back from the grave. That was just fine when you were tormenting dear old Batsy, but…" Something changed in the madman's features. Evil twisted the features into a horrifying caricature of childish anger. "Now he cares about you again. He almost _killed_ for _you_."

Jason's anger rose its head, seething inside him and giving him the strength to respond. "So, you're jealous? That's pathetic."

The man laughed humorlessly, slammed the crowbar down on Tim once more. "I'll make you a deal, Birdboy,"

"spit it out," Jason ground out, his eyes leaving the Joker's only long enough to see Tim struggling to air. The boy struggled to hold himself together, he writhed on the floor, trying to catch air. It was surreal, hearing the echo of his frantic gasping through the com link, knowing that Bruce could hear it too.

"I'll let them walk out of here, but only if you cooperate with me. Only if you allow me to keep you for a little _visit."_

A million thoughts raced through his mind, memories of that night. The crowbar, the pain, the isolation. Then waking up, alone, broken, agony… Memories. He had to remind himself. But Tim was still gasping for air, reminding Jason all too well of the time he spent in that coffin…

"_Jason_." Bruce's voice, keeping him sane.

"I – I can't. I can't B," He whispered, his voice incredibly weak ad child-like.

But the Joker was there, smiling and waiting. Tim was there, gasping on air. And Damian…

"Let them go." His courage came back, his need to protect his brothers.

"Is that a yes?! Ha!" The man broke into insane jitters, chuckling under his breath. Joker squatted close to the ground, looking at Tim as the boy's sputters slowed. "Did you hear that, boy? Big Brother is going to help you out! Who'd have thought the brain damaged one would turn out to be the hero!" He laughed aloud, then took hold of Tim and slammed his head into the pavement.

"No!" Jason yelled, anger rising quickly at the stillness of Tim's body.

"Go ahead, little Robin, get Big Bird here out of the warehouse. I'll let you leave."

Damian lifted his head, swollen and bruised as it was. There was fight in him still, an indomitable will that was so much like Bruce's. He struggled to stand, coming to his feet shakily, but determinedly. He shook Tim, trying to pull the older boy away from the corruption of the Joker.

The two made their way to the door slowly as Joker approached Jason. Before he could step back, get away from the man that had murdered him, The joker was stabbing into his neck a needle injection. The crazed man began to laugh hysterically as Jason stumbled back, holding his neck as it bled. Boxes and small trinkets were shoved aside, or broken, as Jason tried to get away, his hands fumbling over the obstacles to his escape.

The Joker stood in his place, watching with manic glee as he struggled.

"_Jason, don't give up. Nightwing and I are almost there."_ The man's rational voice broke through the terror-filled haze, but not enough to really calm him.

"Take care of T for me," Jason whispered, knowing that his fear was seeping into his voice again. "And be a good dad to little D." His voice shook, his body trembled, and his breath came out in ragged sobs.

He wasn't sure what the madman had injected him with, but everything was starting to blur. Jason would recognize the effects of cocaine, LSD, or even Scarecrow's fear toxin… this was something else. It made him feel disjointed, sick, and disoriented, but on a level that he had never experienced.

"_Jason, we are going to get you out of there."_

Had Bruce's voice always been like that? It sounded cool, like ice melting on the skin. That was normal, right? Jason's mind began to shut down. Though he tried to search for his brothers, to see if they had escaped, he couldn't get his mind to focus long enough or interpret the images his eyes were sending.

Jason's hand flew up to his head, trying to contain the pulsing pain that erupted from the area. But his body was starting to go numb. His eyes closed and opened rapidly, blinking past the delirium to realize a cold, deadly fact: Tim and Damian were still in the warehouse. They were calling out for him to run, they had been for a while.

But Jason was just too tired now. His body felt like immovable lead. Jason looked at the madman that had killed him, watched him blur as Jason's vision began to fade.

He wanted to say something, but when the words came out they sounded more like formal obsequies "B… Save them, keep them safe. Always keep them safe… They come first. I need you to do that for me." Jason felt wetness on his shirt, on his hand. He looked down to see crimson spreading on his shirt, down his face. A nosebleed. Was that what this was? Why was there so much blood? "I think – I'm going to die again."

He sputtered as he fell to the floor, crashing through crates and splintering the wood with his weight. Vaguely he heard Bruce on the link screaming about an ambush, telling him that he and Dick were delayed. He heard Tim, awake now, struggling for air, trying to protect Damian. God the laughter that filled the air, it was the manic sound of The Joker toying with his prey.

Jason couldn't handle it. The blood running down his neck and face, the cries of his little brothers, the tired sounds of Bruce desperately trying to get to them. It was all too familiar and he was just so tired. Jason closed his eyes and blocked everything out, let the darkness of unconsciousness embrace his world-weary body until there was nothing left.

**Review please. The words feed my muse, as sadistic as it is feeling lately. ^^ next chapter will be from either Bruce or Dick and Tim or Damian. Haven't decided yet. **


	16. A Little Death Never Hurt Anyone

**Chapter 16**

The men had been easy to take down. Flying at the Bat's side put him into flawless formation, Bruce attacking, Dick finishing them off. He still recognized the almost imperceptible movements – the way Bruce constantly corrected his stance to provide cover for his Robin, or Nightwing, in this case. They performed flips, bounds, kicks, punches; each blow leading them closer and closer to the warehouse door.

Over his earpiece, Dick heard the struggles of his little brothers – all of them. It was hard to see himself as such, as the eldest son. Accepting that meant he would need to accept his failure, his complete inability to protect them time and time again.

He had failed with Jason, to the point that his brother had died. He had failed with Tim when Bruce had replaced the boy. And Damian…

_Don't go there._

Right, Focus.

The trace had led them to the warehouse, but once they had arrived the boys were gone. The Joker's men were on them in moments, sent to beleaguer the pair, to distract them from their cause. Dick leapt over one of them, twisting the hand that held the gun behind his back while Bruce knocked him out with a single well-aimed punch.

Bruce may have been overtly fastidious in his training, often pointing out minor mistakes, but Dick had to admit that it had certainly paid off now.

But once it was over, Bruce was enraged. He lifted one of the "distractions" from the ground, shook him in the air, thrust him against the wall. "Where are they? Where are the three of them?" His voice was strained, imbued with anger and a trace of fear.

"I'd tell him, if I were you," Nightwing cut in. The man was dressed like one of the Black Mask's men. All formal crap (seriously, how did they expect to move around in those?) with a black suit and tie loosely around his body. Real fancy. Not the Joker's style. If this man wasn't with the madman, who was he with?

The man stuttered, terror in his beady black eyes. "I-"

Bruce lashed out, slammed the man into the wall again. "Don't even think about lying to us!"

"We took the little one, brought him here, as we were instructed…"

Bruce's grip tightened, scaring the grunt and making him shrink away. "Instructed by _who_?" the last word came out as a menacing growl.

"Gianni! We're working for Gianni!"

"Where?"

"West side of town, warehouse thirteen. Please.. please don't kill me!"

Bruce ground the grunt into the wall until his face bled, "If you're lying-"

"I'm not! I swear!" With that, Batman dropped the man. Only a moment's hesitation and then they were sailing through the air, on their way to save the family.

But back at the warehouse, the grunt was shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear the black dots dancing before his eyes. He moved his hand to the communication device in his ear. "They're on their way. Try to stay alive till then, boss."

…

Damian's head felt like it was on fire. A million little blood vessels alight with pulsating agony, but he raised his head heedlessly. Drake was there, his breathing labored and his eyes closed tightly. Both of their capes and utility belts had been taken, leaving them basically defenseless. The crackle of static in his ear told him that the com devices were offline, probably their captor's doing. Damian scanned the room, memories crashing through his skull in painful bursts. The rooftop, being taken captive, being beaten, and then thrown into the warehouse…

Jason. He had tried to sacrifice himself for their benefit.

Damian's eyes found the older man, lying bloody and broken in the corner of the room, his leather jacket stripped away, his weapons gone. He stared for a moment, waiting for a sign of movement. When none came, he gasped out a single word: "Idiot."

That's when he heard that sadistic voice humming in the air. It sounded like a lullaby, a deep, full melody that echoed a childhood memory…but twisted, deadly, a sound that resonated with dangerous intent. Damian groaned, pushing off the ground with all his strength, trying to lift himself up even through the pain.

He didn't get that far.

His face smacked the cement floor of the warehouse as he was kicked to the ground. "Not so fast, Birdboy!" The Joker. The foot planted squarely between the boy's shoulder blades made it impossible for Damian to maneuver his sore body. He couldn't see the madman, but his voice was cold and insane.

"Hmm. This is oddly familiar. All that's missing is the crowbar! Oh wait-" sharp, a blow that shook his bones, radiating that throbbing pain until it consumed him. The boy cried out, and then another hit came down. They fell, one after another, until Damian heard wet snaps of the bones fracturing – he sure as hell felt them.

Tim's eyes flew open at the strangled sounds of Damian's torment. He stared at his little brother, but was completely unable to move. Damian whimpered weakly, the attack overwhelming his small body.

"How'd that feel, pumpkin?" The Joker asked, his voice ringing with laughter, a risible sound in the quiet setting.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damian saw a stir of movement. Jason was waking, trying desperately to sit up. Their eyes met, something crossed between the two. Maybe the pain in Damian's eyes, maybe the determination in Jason's, but whatever it was, Jason began to struggle harder. The older man pushed against the floor with renewed strength, though his nose began to seep blood again.

The Joker brought down the crowbar again, slamming it down on Damian's side, throwing the boy onto Tim. But that was the end, the last blow that the madman could deliver to the child. Damian and Tim looked on, watching as Jason approached. He seemed to have gathered the strength to fight, to protect his younger brothers from enduring the same torturous end he had.

The older man struggled with his murderer, wrestling with the madman to steal away the crowbar.

"No! Bad! This is not how the game is supposed to go!" Rage appeared on the Joker's face, anger that the game had been cut short. The Joker's first solecism of the night and it was the most pervasive: he had failed to tie down the rogue of the family.

They kept at it, each time the Joker gained the upper hand, Jason would redouble his efforts. Damian was filled with hope, watching the older man. Tim stirred next to him, wrapping an arm around his broken body.

"We need to get out of here, D," Tim whispered.

Damian lifted his head with effort, but could not afford the energy to really get up. "I…can't move." There was anger in the statement, not liking the weakness of it.

Tim started to get up, pulling Damian up with him. They moved slowly, trying to reach the door as Jason and the Joker faced off.

"No! No!" The Joker cried out, almost desperately. Jason nodded at his brothers, a clear message shining in his eyes: _get out._ The two nodded weakly, accepting what Jason was all too willing to give.

They didn't waste a moment, even as they saw Jason thrown to the floor. Even as they heard a slight crack of breaking bone. Tim and Damian ran.


	17. Torture

**All right, the next chapter is up. Enjoy! And let me know what you think. In a review. Because it just nice to read reviews about the story. Please?**

Chapter 17

Tim staggered along with Damian barely hanging onto him. "Just a little while longer. We'll get out of this together."

"I still hate you, Drake."

"Yeah, I know. But you can hate me when we find Bruce."

They set foot out of the warehouse, only to find that an entire battalion of goons was waiting for them. Mainly they were the Joker's men, but three of them were different – normal – the tallest among them was one that Tim recognized. It was Gianni, the mobster. His face was bruised and he held himself up only with the help of his bodyguards.

The Joker's men began to laugh maniacally, staring at the two boys with little more than amusement and contempt.

They charged towards the two. Tim and Damian had no options; they weren't strong enough now to fight. So they stood still, clinging to one another desperately.

Then the glass above their heads was shattered. Glittering shards rained down over their heads, some blinding the goons, stabbing into their skin, spurting blood across the warehouse. Then Batman and Nightwing dropped down, both of them landing lightly into a fighting stance.

"Father!" Damian whispered at his side.

Tim smiled, dropping to the floor with his little brother held close. Weariness seeped into their bones, now that safety was upon them Tim and Damian couldn't find the will to stand. Bruce and Dick moved with cunning efficiency, moving throughout the warehouse in perfect synchronization and taking down the Joker goons easily. They fell one by one to the combined might of the original dynamic duo.

Tim let hope swirl in his chest, allowed the emotion to fill him up. He pushed past the pain in his body and thought, for the first time that evening, Tim felt that things would turn out all right. He felt that their family could be whole again.

The roar of an engine stopped those thoughts.

A truck, from the sound of it. A semi. The whole warehouse reverberated with the sound, it shook the building and suddenly the maniacal laugh of the Joker was filling the room over the sound of the truck. The wall behind Tim and Damian exploded outward, the truck appearing through the hole. A Joker mask covered the front end of the truck, the steel box covered in Joker-related graffiti.

"well hellloooo there little escapees! What a coincidence that we would see each other again! Ha!" The Joker put the truck in high gear, driving it out through the south wall – escaping the Batman and his protégés.

Bruce growled angrily, shoving aside the mass of goons the Joker had left to keep them occupied. Then he shouted, "Robins, where is J?"

Tim stood up abruptly, turning on his heel and limping back into the room where he and Damian had only just escaped. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he threw open that door.

Jason was gone.

…

Jason's eyes split open with only momentary hesitation. His mind was in kicked into high gear, panic evident and logic thrown out long ago. He couldn't be sure of the exact moment when his sanity had fluttered away, but, if he had to make a wild guess, it had probably been somewhere between helping his little brothers escape and being thrown to the floor like a dog.

Speaking of dogs…

A cage. Jason was trapped in a damned cage. Big metal bars, crisscrossed until they formed a tight box. He sucked in air wildly, eyes darting up, down, left, right. His fingers reached through the bars, making contact with the cool cement underneath. The solid rock greeted him, whispered that he wasn't buried, that he wasn't running out of air. It wasn't much, but the motion was enough to keep dangerous thoughts from fracturing his already crumbling psyche.

_Stay calm, Jay. You can see outside this box, it's not a coffin. A cage. Holes in the walls. Not closed in. _

Jason's hands gripped the crossbars of his enclosure, holding on to the constant reminder that the walls were _not_ moving toward him. Still, his heart beat like a drum. He wanted to cry out, to let the fear rock though him. But he was supposed to be strong…right? Fuck, he couldn't be sure of anything right now, not with the wooden walls jumping at him, steadily marching towards his skin - NO.

His hands tightened around the bars as blood oozed around them. Pain arched through his arms, but his mind couldn't even process that. _God, if only the walls would stop _moving. Jason's eyes became blurred, the world mixing up until he could barely see. Tears? He couldn't afford those either, but moving, that would mean letting go of the bars. Jason couldn't afford to let go of them.

So the water droplets slowly slid down his face.

_Calm down. _

_You need to-_

_What was that?_

Beeping. Slow and steady. Jason's eyes darted around the room. The scattered pieces of his mind came together for this, the fight-or-flight response kicking in. Sweat formed on his brow, his pupils dilated to let in more light and take note of the bigger picture: precise details were now unnecessary, only the things that were out of place mattered. Red. It was a bomb. Counting down the exact minutes he had left to live. Unless Bruce could come in time.

Jason had put his faith in his father before.

And his disappointment had, literally, been short lived.

The sound of metal hitting metal made him jump, made him recall when a metal object had crushed bone. Flashes came to him, reliving those moments. He let out a broken cry as he felt the crowbar, smelled sulfur in the air, heard the echo of his will disintegrating. Jason clutched the sides of his head in an attempt to stem the flow of shattered memories.

They wouldn't stop though.

Crawling across the floor, littering blood out behind him. air. There wasn't enough air, or maybe it was that his lungs were collapsing. Jason knew even if he got out of here, even if Bruce arrived in time, he wouldn't survive for much longer. That wasn't the issue. Jason whispered aloud, his voice small and so very childlike, "I don't want to die alone. I don't want to die alone…" he repeated it like a mantra. The words followed him back to reality, forced him to remember the terrible isolation from his first death. He couldn't do that again.

Jason would kill himself before he allowed the Joker to do him in with that godamned crowbar _again_. How could he do it?

The joker began to drag the crowbar across the bars, like a child trailing a stick along a fence.

He looked for something to do it with.

The Joker laughed madly. He banged the crowbar against the metal box, shaking Jason.

His eyes searched erratically around the room as his terror rose.

The madman kept at it until Jason's ears were ringing, painfully vibrating.

There was nothing in the room, no object he could grab.

Joker petted the bomb, reading out the exact time he had left to live as it counted down.

Insanity filled the room and Jason stopped thinking. He stopped feeling. He began to crush his head against the metal bars, he did it again. Blood trickled at first, but on the next time it spurted across the bars. Jason's overriding need to escape led him here. His terror over being trapped again with the man that had already murdered him once had led him to this.

Jason's eyes twitched, but he kept at it until light engulfed him.

He remembered death, but this was different. Jason couldn't be sure how or why, but this felt completely new.

He was glad to finally get one over on his killer.

**Haaa… I need to stop ending on cliffhangers… don't I? Reviewww! Please?**


	18. Addicted

**Hey, this is…well, you know. Spring Break just started! Which means (hopefully) more chapters. This chapter is the interlude kind and things are going to get sticky from here on out…. NOT IN A BAD WAY. Sorry, rambling now. Thanks for staying with the story this long, please leave a review and let me know if I'm going in a bad direction? Confidence boosts? Please? 8D**

**Chapter 18**

Bruce's jaw tightened. Anger checked, just below the surface, as Tim called back that his son was gone. The goons had scattered after the Joker had rode through them. Gianni and his men stuck to the corner of the room, weariness evident. Easy targets if need be. For now, though, Bruce Wayne was taking over. The logic was fading, replaced steadily by his more emotional alter.

Bruce stepped away from Dick, crouched down to take Damian into his arms. "Are you all right?"

To his surprise, his boy didn't struggle at all, Damian leaned into the touch. "I'm fine, Father." The child needed comfort, it was painfully obvious, and Bruce held him closer.

When Tim limped back into the main room Dick stepped forward to help the boy. Bruce rose with Damian held close against him. "And you? Are you okay?"

Tim nodded his head, though silence hung in the air. Dick moved quickly to help his little brother as The Bats congregated. They moved into a group without thinking, coming closer in an unconscious desire for family.

The moment didn't last. Eventually, Bruce was rising, passing an injured Robin over to Nightwing as he did so.

Bruce took long strides to reach him, the mobster they had supposedly made up. As he neared, the scum's body guards tensed. They knew they were in no condition to fight the Dark Knight, but they certainly felt protective towards him.

"The Joker. Where was he headed?" Bruce ground out. His anger seethed just below the surface, but the Batman kept the paternal emotions at bay. He was all logic now.

Gianni eyed the larger man, but there was no fight in his dark brown eyes. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small USB flash drive, which he promptly handed over. "That has the location of every single warehouse I was planning on using here in Gotham. When that crazy bastard showed up, he demanded I hand over the same information. He just didn't know I kept a copy." The Italian stared into the soulless eyes of the Batman and diverted his eyes before speaking again, "You'll find him at one of those places. Look, I'm sorry for not stopping him, I-"

But the Bat was gone, along with his small, broken family.

Gianni scanned the warehouse quickly, wondering how the hell he had gotten into this mess. The warehouse was plunged into silence, the three of them holding their breaths in anticipation of some cataclysm.

Eventually, though, someone had to speak up.

And it was the largest of the men, "But boss, you didn't tell him about the-"

"I know, Michael. I know."

…

The first sensation he had was an over-exaggerated lethargy. He immediately recognized the fleeting euphoria of heroine. He'd been dosed with it once before, long ago, when he had still been a Robin, then when he'd been on the streets... His brain was almost too slow to think through the effects, but something told him that things were about to take a turn for the worse.

How long ago had he been dosed? God his mind couldn't stick with one topic at a time.

Fuck. Was the room spinning? Was there a time when the room stood still? He couldn't recall anymore.

Jason tried to move, tried to push himself up, but there was a dull ache on the side of his head – an ache that he knew _should_ be worse than it felt. Oh, right. His mind supplied fact: heroine was an opiate, in the same class as morphine and codeine. Pupils should be dilated, breathing slowed, pain dulled, anxiety replaced by indolent pleasure. With that information in mind, he laid back down, not wanting to risk movement if he was really injured. Had he been injured? He huffed out, knowing somewhere deep inside that pain was soon to follow.

Jason had enough sense in his addled brain to know that eventually he'd start going through withdrawal. He tried to remember when he'd been dosed, if he could figure that out he would know how long he had until withdrawal symptoms started up. Damn, just thinking about it made his head hurt.

Wait. Where the hell was he?

A cage?

Well, fuck.

He should probably be freaking out. Actually, he should _definitely _be flipping shit. Something about the whole traumatic experience… thing…

Bruce? He wanted Bruce. Wanted his father. A deep longing took hold in his heart, for home, for his dad…

He never thought he'd say it, but he missed his family. Even the Dick. Even the replacement. Even the Demon. Damnit. Had he gone soft? The Red Hood, wanting a family? Maybe that wasn't it. Maybe this wasn't about his alter ego. Jason's eyes closed as he thought, memories slipping through his fingers tangibly.

Maybe it was just Jason Todd that wanted a family.

God, what was he doing? Was he becoming a freaking psychoanalyst, Freudian slips and all. Wait, did they count as slips since he wasn't really talking aloud? Would this be closer to Humanist therapy or cognitive?

Fuck. Something had to be wrong with him.

Was that laughter?

It sounded familiar…

His head hurt; actually, it was thrumming and pulsing just under his skin.

Shit, the drug was probably wearing off. Withdrawal was a bitch. He tried to reach out with his steadily declining senses, trying to hear the unheard, see the unseen…or, y'know, whatever the hell that saying went.

He supposed, in the end, that it really didn't matter. In the distance he could hear the echo of beeping, seconds ticking away. Jason was still going to die and, he supposed, that was all right.

Death was coming one way or another.

…

Bruce scanned through the documents with the utmost efficiency. He was mapping each of the locations out and uploading the information to the Batmobile.

"Ouch!" Tim yelped from the med bay.

"Honestly Master Drake, hold still!" Alfred said exasperation leaking past the stoic British man's façade.

"Yeah, Tim. Quit being such a baby," the voice of Bruce's eldest piped up. Dick easily wrapped the arm of Damian as the youngest struggled this way and that.

"Sure, next time you try being beaten by the Joker!"

"I'm sure Jason is experiencing enough for all of you." Bruce's words echoed in the cave, leaving a strange, awkward note hanging in the air. Pain ripped away at his chest at the thought of it – his _son_ at the mercy of the madman that had already killed him once.

The thought of finding his son, torn to pieces, broken… dead…Bruce didn't know if he would make it through seeing those bright eyes go cold and flat. Again.

He shook himself, sending his mind spiraling back into the alter ego. Bruce sought the defense logic and understanding offered to him by the Bat, he sought the protective film of Batman's analytical mind. If he was going to find Jason alive, he would certainly need all of the Dark Knight's strength.

Done. Files uploaded, locations narrowed.

Batman got up in one fluid movement, catching the keys to the Batmobile as he did so.

"Wait, you're not just leaving, are you?" Dick's voice sounded angry, almost hurt.

Bruce reacted to that tone, the one that said things were not okay, that Dick was just as close to breaking as Bruce was. He stepped close to his son, laying a hand lightly on the young man's shoulder. "I need you to stay here, Dick. I need to know that my boys are safe. I need to know that Tim and Damian have their big brother here to reassure them."

Dick diverted his eyes, looking first at his youngest brother, then at Tim. "Take care of Jay, all right? I don't think any of us can handle losing him."

For just a moment, the father in him felt something growing in his heart. Pride, he labeled it.

And then Bruce was gone, replaced by the Bat as he climbed into his vehicle.

_Hold on, son._

**Review, please? Let me know if I'm doing well or terribly? ( )**


	19. Withdrawal

**Ok, so here's another chapter. I wanted to write from Babs' perspective… unfortunately I haven't read many comics for her and I haven't been keeping up with the new 52 version of her…. Ugh. But, I did manage to write out a SMALL bit for her before feeling totally out of my element. Anyways, please leave a review and let me know what you think of the chapter. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 19**

She remembered the first time that she met the kid. He was a scrappy little thing, witty and sardonic, all bones and attitude. The part of him that stood out, though, was the pain in his eyes. Something in those bright orbs that whispered of a harsh past full of jagged scars and shattered dreams. But under it all was determination, an iron will to survive that was stronger than any she had seen before; it was stronger than her own, if she was being honest.

It was that memory which kept Oracle searching for the wayward bat.

All that Jason had been, not what he had become. Although, that wasn't exactly right either. No matter what happened between the members of the Bat family, Jason would always be Jason.

And that was why she had sent out the Birds. From their trackers Barbara could see that Stephanie had just finished at the second allocated warehouse, while Cassandra had only just arrived at her third.

"Nothing on my end," Steph's sing-song voice said through the communicator.

"All clear," Cassandra said quietly.

"Keep looking, Jason's got to be out there somewhere. We have to get to him before…"

"We'll find him, O."

Barbara stared at the screen before her, tracing the path of the little dots that indicated her friends' positions until their lights seemed to burn into her skull. She relayed her information to Bruce quickly, wanting nothing more than for the information to reach him well.

She hoped Stephanie was right.

…

"_Jason, what are you doing here?" _

_The boy didn't turn around. "I figured you'd kick me out eventually anyway, so I left before you could try." _

"_And you came _here_?" _

"_It's my home… well, it was when my mom was around." Bruce touched the child's arm, spinning him around so they faced each other. If he were anyone else, Bruce may have missed the almost imperceptible flinch Jason gave off. The boy was definitely injured, but the black jacket he wore covered any wound that may be hidden beneath. Jason's bright teal eyes shined up at Bruce, a man without the cape and cowl. The older man suspected the gleam in those eyes was partly because of the water gathering at the corners, perhaps partly due to fever, if Jason was indeed injured._

"_Why did you run away?" Bruce rephrased his question._

_Jason blinked up at the older man, rain dripping from his brow, his clothes. He trembled with the cold, but his eyes still held that iron determination Bruce had come to know. Jason didn't respond, but he gently shrugged Bruce's hand off his arm and turned away again. "Today's her anniversary."_

_Logical. Was there a single time when Bruce had failed to come back to Crime Alley on the anniversary of his parents' death?_

_But it was what Jason said next that surprised Bruce. "It's also the same day when my dad left us."_

"_Ja-"_

"_You know, I'm surprised she lasted as long as she did. Honestly, who'd want to be stranded with a kid askin' all the time 'when's daddy coming home?' or maybe whining about how she kept using." Jason's hand flew up to wipe at his eyes, "I guess I just always assumed one of them actually wanted me." _

"_They did, in their own ways. I can't say anything to make this better, but I'd like to stay with you, if that's all right." _

"_You only plucked me off the streets a couple of months ago, why the hell do you care?" Jason glared out of the corner of his eye, though something hidden underneath told Bruce that the boy genuinely wanted an answer._

"_Because you deserve better."_

_The boy's face reflected only confusion, like he'd never heard those words before. "My da- well, _someone_ always told me that a pretty lie's better than a hard truth. Is that what this was?"_

_Bruce knelt down before him, though he was mindful not to touch the boy. "Jason, this is _not_ your home. Wayne Manor is open to you, no matter what happens. But you can't keep coming here. It's not safe for you."_

_That confusion was back on the boy's face. "Since when is safety a concern?"_

"_Since you tried to steal my tires." Straightforward, Jason liked it._

"_To be fair, I didn't try to steal _your_ tires, I tried to steal the _Bat's_ tires."_

"_Not the point," Bruce growled. "You leave for the first time and already you've gotten yourself into trouble."_

"_I'm not in any danger here, B." An indignant look crossed his face, the one that murmured of Jason Todd's sense of pride. _

"_Oh yeah?" In a quick strike that was nearly imperceptible, Bruce prodded Jason's shoulder. As the detective had thought, Jason flinched, gasping at the sudden rush of pain. "Wanna tell me what happened?"_

_Without waiting for a response, Bruce began to shift the jacket over – to see blood, too much to be a simple cut. The billionaire was almost surprised to find panic welling up, fear for a boy he had only just begun to take care of. "What happened?" His voice was forceful now._

_Jason tried to shrug but, finding it painful, he resigned to diverting his gaze. "Got stupid. Got shot." He smiled, amazingly, like it was a casual thing. Like Jason had expected something worse than a bullet in the shoulder and, Bruce had to remind himself, Jason probably _had_ gotten worse in his months on the streets._

"_Well then, we better settle in, huh?"_

…

Jason came awake with a start, casting away the phantoms of his past. He began to take a physical inventory of sorts, like Bruce had taught him, noting what was wrong and what was in working order. His entire body shook. He felt ice forming in his veins, yet the hot sweat soaking the white of his shirt definitely told him that he was overheating. Pain pulsed across his body and, in a dazed stupor, Jason noted there was blood pooling around his head, soaking his hair. Maybe it was sweat. Yeah, most of it was probably sweat. Or not, if the pain was any indication. He couldn't localize the wound, he couldn't even recall how he'd been injured, Jason only knew that his entire body ached.

He had enough sense left in his head to realize he wasn't in the cage anymore. Just cement floor beneath him. Good, that meant his chances of escape had just gone up dramatically. Then again, his addled brain thought, it could also mean that the end was just to certain to _bother_ with a freaking cage.

OK. He could handle a lot of shit; he _had_ handled a lot of shit without going insane. But if the Joker kept whistling the tune to "It's My Party" Jason was going to snap.

Damn. He'd been dealt a pretty shitty hand in this life. Right now, he'd give just about anything to see his family. Him, Jason Todd. Wanting to see the Golden Boy, The Replacement, the Demon… Bruce.

Ah, fuck. What was he thinking? He had to stay alive, keep his lungs pulling in air, keep his heart pounding just as hard as it could.

So he began to store energy, a special trick his old teacher had taught. He partitioned his mind, blocking out everything but his need to survive, his need to see those bastards' smiling, smug faces again. Besides, Tim and Damian owed him one hell of a "thank you."

When Bruce showed up, Jason would be ready to fight at his side.

Hopefully.

_Just get here soon… Dad._

**Well, did ya like it? Let me know in a review. ^^**

**!Up next! The ending of Jason/Bruce's memory, the conclusion of the search, and…. Well, I won't spoil it. See you next week. 8)**


	20. The Echo of Madness

**Yeah, this chapter is late, I know. I had a huge project due this week worth 50% of my grade, but I tried to write a bit every night. So, thanks for the patience! This chapter is a bit tense and sad, so… be warned. **

**Chapter 20**

Batman swung through his city with practiced ease, a graceful fluidity that merely hinted at the bustling fury kept at bay by the cowl. He had searched five of the warehouses already and now stood poised above the city at Wayne Towers. He tried hopelessly to keep his mind focused, to stop the images fluttering before his eyes.

The images of blue-green eyes gone flat and dead; the images of his son, burned and charred beyond recognition save for those beautiful eyes.

_Focus, Bruce. You can't think about the possibilities, you're Batman. You need logic._

But his mind, the side that was a father to Jason, screamed at the other, angry for his miscalculations, his inability to find their boy.

"_B, we think we've got a location for you_." Barbara's voice, her beacon of light. The sound shattered any images flashing before his eyes. His mind found clarity where once was despair.

"Where?" He ground out, anger still flooding his system. "Where has the Joker taken my son?"

"_You're not going to like this_."

"I won't like it one way or the other, the Joker still has him. Just tell me."

"_Crime Alley._"

So, back to the beginning. Joker had taken Jason back to his birthplace, if only to poison it.

"Thank you Oracle," he said in a clipped tone.

Then he was gone, rushing toward Jason, toward Jason's murderer. He could only pray that the boy would still be in one piece.

…

_No matter what Bruce said, the boy would not stop squirming. Jason turned this way and that each time the older man tried to clean out the glaring, bleeding wound in his small shoulder. "Sit still, I'm almost done. You're lucky the apartment was left untouched," he said, ruffling the disinfectant to make his point. _

"_It wasn't 'left untouched'. After my mom died, the police were here, found the place not even in code." Jason let out a small, humorless laugh, "Not that it's a big deal, the whole thing is just… fitting."_

_Bruce finished cleaning the wound, pressed a gauze pad to stop the bleeding, and then carefully replaced each instrument to its original place. The skin around the wound was hot, proving some inflammation. Out of worry, Bruce touched the back of his hand to Jason's forehead – it was hot, his hair matted with sweat and rain. "It looks like you're coming down with something."_

"_Probably," Jason smiled hazily. "That explains why I feel like shit."_

"_Language." The boy gave him a look, but settled down on the couch when Bruce prompted him. _

"_You know, Bruce, you're not so bad. I remember the last time I saw my… when I saw my Old Man, He came in through that door," Jason pointed weakly at the front entryway, "kicked my ass – you wouldn't believe how much you can bleed even when you're dehydrated – but then he slapped my mom around. I guess it makes sense, we were both mistakes."_

_Jason practically squeaked with surprise when Bruce pulled the boy into a hard embrace. "You are _not _a mistake. Always remember that, Jason." He fully expected for Jason to shove him away, to flinch away from the physical contact. But he didn't. Jason settled against him, actually leaning into the touch. _

"_I just wish my mom could've just waited… I wish _I _could have been enough." There were tears in his voice, and Bruce understood why Jason had moved closer. _

_Bruce's hands entwined with the boy's hair, combing it away from his face slowly in a soothing motion. "Do you know what happened to your dad?" he asked after a moment of silence._

"_All I know for sure is that Willis Todd left Gotham and never came back. I did hear a rumor that he set himself up somewhere decent, though." Again, Jason laughed, a humorless little noise that was trapped in a small cough._

_Bruce remained silent, sensing Jason's need to speak, to get this pain off his chest. _

"_It'll be all right. someday I'll have my own family, I'll make my own life," Jason paused only to look away. "I'll be a better father than he ever could have been." Tears hit the boys cheeks, anger flushed just below the surface. "Why didn't he want me?" _

_Jason's chest shook, pain evident – both emotional and physical. Bruce pulled the boy to him, holding Jason close to his heart until the sobs subsided to broken cries. Jason hugged him back, accepting the protection and love the embrace symbolized, if only for this one, vulnerable time. _

"_I know that you don't need anyone to take care of you, Jason. But I want you to know that I'm here, that I will always be here for you." _

…

Everyone has that one day of the year. Everyone knows about it because everyone has dealt with it. It's that time where you feel like you've been buried underneath miles and miles of bullshit. Jason was entering the grace period, just before all hell broke loose. You know, when shit _really_ hits the fan.

Jason only wished that whatever was going to happen would _happen _already. Because laying on the floor with tremors racking his body, sweat dripping from every pore in a vain attempt to rid his body of the toxin; well it just wasn't _comfortable_. Still, Jason tested each of his muscles. He could feel the power building in each one, he was ready to stand. If he could stand, he could fight.

Jason just prayed that he wouldn't need to fight, that Bruce would come and pull him out of this mess – a mess that, for the record, Jason had _not_ gotten himself into, much.

"You hear that boys!" The Joker, the voice that made Jason's skin crawl, "Sounds like the Bat has arrived!" The madman let out a loud cackle.

Despite his need to move away from the sound Jason stayed still, keeping his muscles relaxed and his eyes closed tightly against the stream of images from before. From the nightmares of his death and resurrection.

The door to the warehouse slammed open, slapping the inner wall as it did so. Jason opened his eyes to see – Gianni. The mobster had several men behind him, all thugs Jason recognized. The room reverberated with the sound of leather-bound boots stomping across the floor.

"You are not my Batsy," The Joker sneered, "You're not even supposed to be _alive_. Boys."

The Joker's men surged forward right as Gianni signaled his men into movement. The battle quickly deteriorated into a brawl; every man was for himself, every attack was vital and important in its own right. They were moving towards Jason, their feet a danger to him, he needed to move.

Jason struggled to sit up, feeling nausea but pressing on. He grunted with effort when he finally found his feet, pushing past dizziness now. _C'mon Jay you've dealt with worse than this._ He made his way to the far wall, blending in to the shadows he found lurking there. Jason watched the fight from a distance and felt, little by little, power returning to his tired limbs. _That's right, you've got the strength to do this, now just remember how to use it_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Saw Batman. Bruce had finally arrived. Clinging to the shadows as usual, the white-lens eyes of the cowl stared straight at Jason before nodding. The younger man knew immediately what the signal meant: _stay put_. But hell, Jason Todd had never been one to listen.

The Joker's men were forming around both of them, having already distracted or defeated Gianni's goons. But Jason heard the laugh, that terrible, gut-wrenching laugh. He heard it before he saw the crowbar, before he could warn the only father he had ever known. And hearing it strike skin and bone through a Kevlar-enforced suit, Jason snapped.

…

Bruce had been distracted. He had let himself be distracted by fear. No, it was not quite fear, but concern – a paternal worry that preceded the logic of the Bat. Batman had slipped into the warehouse easily enough, staying hidden in the shadows. But then he caught sight of Jason.

The young man's shirt was caked with crimson and dirt and his hair was matted down with blood, blood that was steadily seeping down his face. His eyes were glazed over with weariness, yet they were determined, shaky but calm. In that moment he looked far too much like the Jason Bruce had lifted from a different warehouse floor. His heart seized with pain and uneasiness.

That's why he didn't see the Joker coming.

Bruce certainly felt it though, the blow caught him in the chest. It wouldn't have been so bad except that another hit came not a moment later. It was more painful than the last, but the true pain was seeing Jason's reaction. Bruce knew the boy well enough to see the break – hell, he could almost _hear_ Jason's sanity shattering on the floor.

He Knew for a fact, though, that he heard Jason scream. Not in pain or anger really, but in fury.

Jason reacted with bestial ferocity, like a caged animal prodded into insanity by his captors. Jason slashed wildly, swinging between his enemies indiscriminately fighting both Gianni's men and the Joker's. He let out a battle cry and rocketed through the army of men, even as fresh blood spilled to the floor – his and theirs. Bruce heard the men cry out, heard some of them split their heads on the ground, heard guns shoot at the walls and the others, but Bruce's attention was on Jason. His usually bright eyes had glazed over until they appeared almost black, glinting dangerously in the dim light. Hate shone in those eyes. The younger man was trapped in a killing rage as he attempted to make his way over to the Joker.

_Because it's permanent._ Jason's words echoed in Bruce's mind. The sentence made sense now, Jason expected his own death, even welcomed it. He wanted the serene finish to an endless life; he wanted to bring that to others before he was taken down for the second time.

By now all eyes were on Jason and the Joker, who was making his way to the young man.

Bruce screamed, he cried out the only thing he could think to say, "JASON!"

And in the near-silence that always comes before a traumatic end, Bruce heard the thundering boom of two bullets tearing through flesh.

**If you liked this chapter and would like to see more, please leave a review. 8) Thanks!**


	21. A Bird Nest

**Oh look! It's a distraction! Ha… yes, this update is obscenely late. Just read Batman #20 and had to write something… again, sorry for the wait. **

**Take this offering! **

**And review…**

**Chapter 21**

Crimson fluid, beautiful, harsh, dangerous. It was everywhere. Coating the young man's face, sealing one swollen eye closed. But that wasn't the problem, no, that dash of red had dried long before. It was the fresh puddle that now stained another man's clothes that captivated him. Jason watched it flow out and onto the floor. The room had grown so quiet, only the forlorn echo of a gunshot made the situation real.

Gianni's men stared, the Joker's men looked on, Bruce… oh God, his face looked terror-stricken, though he wasn't staring at the madman.

Everyone stood at attention, like toy soldiers lined up and waiting for orders that would never come. Hell, even he was falling into a dazed stupor. Though wanted to cry out in pain, the overriding weight of the moment held him silent. He bit the inside of his cheek and watched the blood spread. There was a small part of him, a part that Jason had never realized was so predominant, that told him to run to Bruce. Because, if he was being honest, he would say that the sight of death and the blood flowing across the floor made Jason sick and Bruce seemed like the only solid, safe object in the room.

The Joker's eyes were glazed over, his smile set into an insane caricature of happiness. And then Jason understood. Time was frozen, if only for a moment, to commemorate the situation; to mark the day when the Joker's cold, dead eyes went unlit by greed or manic cruelty.

In a flash, the room was in motion again. The Joker's men – or the men formerly in his service – began to run, resulting in complete and utter chaos. Gianni's men picked off the others easily, killing, maiming, or knocking unconscious all those in a state of panic. In a way, the situation mimicked Jason's inner state of consciousness. Every bit of information was coming to him all at once and he processed each part individually. Where he's been shot, how long it was going to take to heal, where Gianni is with that gun that still has three rounds; and, most importantly, how the hell Jason was going to get to Bruce. Everything flew through his mind, culminating in this singular desire: to find shelter, to get to Bruce.

This desire told Jason to move, to begin the search by taking just one step toward where Bruce had last been in his sights. Unfortunately, like so many of Jason's plans, this one fell apart when his body rebelled against his mind. The missions he set for himself, even as a Robin, were always carried out by his searing determination, until his body became incapable of following. Jason fell uselessly to the floor the moment he took a step. He crumpled his limbs closer to his body, trying to hold the skin of his upper thigh together. Jason made a sound somewhere deep in his throat as the pain ripped through him.

He was lucky, though. The bullet had cleverly avoided the femoral artery. Unluckily, however, the hole was still bleeding profusely. He drank in air ravenously, hoping it would somehow satiate his sudden thirst. Jason tried to remember the last time he'd had a drink of water or anything that could have hydrated him. _maybe back at the manor._ Still not a good sign. Jason tried to calculate how much blood he could afford to spill on the damn floor, but he found his thoughts slowly becoming more and more disorganized. Soon enough he was only staring blankly ahead as feet kicked him, firing bullets passed overhead, and… He couldn't even register. Whatever tenuous grasp he held on reality was slowly becoming ever more ephemeral.

_Born in a hell hole and, Damnit, dying in a hell hole_.

…

The Bat was strategizing the moment the gun went off. He was noting exits, judging distance; he watched the expressions of the men and picked out the ones that would turn violent. However, below the surface, Bruce Wayne was noting the slow and agonizing death of the Joker, judging whether the madman felt pain; He watched Jason most of all and made note of the fact that the bullet had probably missed any major arteries. As one, Batman and Bruce Wayne prioritized Jason's health – he was an innocent bystander to the Bat, but to Bruce Wayne Jason was his son.

Fear was there, trapped somewhere between his heart and head – the Bat used it, he would need the added boost of adrenaline if he was going to do this. He took in the scene once more, noting again how the men were leaning; a foot turned to the side, a body twisting slowly to the right; all were signs of exactly where Batman would need to move.

When time began to move again, suddenly and fiercely, Bruce was kicking bodies, shuffling through the masses, and attacking anything that got in his way.

That was when he saw Jason collapse, heard the boy cry out in pain. Batman turned, felt the blood in his veins freeze and his heart slow for one agonizing second. The Bat felt fear coming far too close to the immovable façade. Bruce echoed the emotions, quivering slightly, he missed a few punches, took a few hits. Then it was gone. The room, the men, the Joker… Bruce was enraged, moving swiftly through the goons and using more force than his alter ego ever would. His attack became frantic, it degenerated into a wild desperation, one that fed into his paternal instincts. Jason was hurt and that was all that mattered, really.

In the midst of the battle, Bruce was only able to spare a glimpse at the madman. The Joker was splayed on the floor, like he was waiting for one last laugh to slip past those pale lips. Crimson, the broken purple of his suit, God the colors were sickening. The man's blood was staining the floor and spilling from his aortic cavity.

Bruce had to move on, had to try to push aside the unique feeling of satisfaction curling inside his stomach. But the realization, seeing the blood spread, was overwhelming. The disparity in justice had finally been righted after so many years, even the Bat had to make note of the matter. The bête noire of their existence… gone. Just like that.

One step away, then another. Bruce was trying to come up for air, to breath past the enormous revelation. But it was the groan of pain that forced his head to break the surface – he was still in the warehouse, there was still a fire fight around him, and Jason was still bleeding out. So Batman spun around and put the moment on hold. He found the struggling bystander on the floor, amidst the battle, and he shoved aside any and all obstacles to reach the young man.

When he was at Jason's side, the young man was struggling. His eyes were closed tightly against some influx of nightmares, his skin pale and clammy. The young man shivered as Bruce's hand feathered over the blood encrusted side of his head – the wound there was large, seemingly… self-inflicted judging by the angle. Bruce inwardly cringed at the thought. What torture had he been introduced to that death could be the only escape for Jason? Strong, willful, independent, reckless Jason… But the boy was still alive now, though for how much longer he could not tell.

From what he was seeing, Jason had shut his body down. Passing out in an attempt to slow the blood loss and divert energy from unnecessary systems. Something Jason had learned from Bruce and probably perfected with the All Caste.

_Smart boy, my Robin_… Bruce shook himself, lifted the boy from the floor, and took off.

…

Dick honestly wasn't sure whether to praise the gods or curse them when Bruce returned. On the one hand, Jason was with him. On the other, there was the fact that both of them were coated in blood.

"I told you to find him, not _break_ him!" He said, anger and fear mixing easily with the cool façade of sarcasm. Why was there so much blood?

Bruce was not having any of it. "I don't have time for this. Go and get Alfred. _Now._" His tone was harsh, a growl of paternalism. There was a note in that tone that made Dick flinch – something in the way that Bruce's strong voice quivered at the edge of sanity. It hinted at the urgency of the matter beyond what Dick could see visually. Desperation. Fear. It was an early sign of the rage and grief warring within the two sides Bruce Wayne; the side of Batman and that of Dick's father.

Dick turned on his heel and leapt at the stairs, running up to the clock and calling out for the old man. A million thoughts filled his head, thoughts of curiosity, of condemnation against Bruce; and he worried, most importantly, for Jason's wellbeing. Their pasts had always been littered with all the little things, the parcels of pain and frustration that fueled their rivalry. Dick had to promise himself that things would get better – even if that did turn out to be empty promise, it was a good one.

Presently he took the steps two at a time, reaching the top quickly and calling out the old man's name again.

And there he was, their grandfather – Alfred. The man shambled out, shaking his head and motioning for Dick to keep his voice down.

Keeping in mind that Tim and Damian were still sound asleep, Dick lowered his voice till it was barely above a whisper. "Alfred, he found Jason!"

The old butler's eyes lit up for one tiny millisecond, the only outward sign of emotion on his stoic face, and then they were both in movement. They spiraled down the staircase quickly and rounded toward the batcave.

When the stairs gave way to the main room, Bruce was already setting up an IV. Alfred rushed to Jason's side, holding up his head to examine the wounds hidden beneath the dark locks of hair. "Bring me a bowl of water, warm, and a rag from upstairs," Alfred said, motioning momentarily towards Dick before turning his full attention back to Jason and Bruce. "Son, I need for you to get my instruments, and the anesthetic. Now!"

God, he was so pale. Upon closer inspection, Dick made out the dark purple contrast that newly forming bruises were creating. The blood… it had all come from Jason. That couldn't be right. No one should have that much… Dick shut down whatever inchoate mental process forcing him to note the facts. Now could not be time for that. His little brother needed him, and Dick couldn't be the older brother Jason needed if he was thinking of all the possibilities. He took a gulp of air, then another. And then he was sprinting up the stairs again.

Whatever Jason needed, he wanted to be there to help.

**Review. Please?**


	22. Water

**Hey guys! Yeah, this chapter is extremely late… But look! A peace offering! It's super long! Let me just clear some things up, **

**I believe Bruce is kind of an unintentional asshole most of the time but especially when his baby bats are involved.**

**Damian is afraid of getting close to people and he has never really experienced death in a way that is meaningful (AKA losing someone he **_**knows**_**) and so his moments are kept short and minimalist.**

**I am operating under the assumption that after his All Caste training (courtesy of the New 52) Jason would still have had to go to Russia for special training in Bomb making/disarming and that he did meet with his super special human trafficking friends. **

**I'm also assuming that Jason loved it in Russia and that it was his first assignment after leaving the All Caste but before striking out on his own in China (where he got all his gangsta monies). **

**Some of the characters may seem a little OOC, but I swear that I tried to keep this as close as possible to how they would react if Jason were in this situation. **

**I apologize, but the moments between the family members and Jason are kept fairly short only because I felt at the time that they were both nervous and scared about Jason's life/death but also did not want to risk watching him die… so, there's my thoughts on that.**

**With all that in mind, I encourage you to leave a review (don't mention how seriously late this chapter is because I swear I'll take another hiatus XP ). Let me know what you liked/didn't like and we'll see how it goes from there! **

**Thank you to everyone that kept me motivated to write more, especially Jubei-Kazuki,** **LuVySoNy, and** **HollyKnight! I'm going to try to update the other stories as soon as I have finalized what I have!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters below, their souls belong to DC. **

**Chapter 22**

Red. Everywhere. He couldn't even tell whether it was rage or the crimson streaks of Jason's blood, still slowly drying, dripping, cracking on his suite. _Why is there so much?_ Alfred's words echoed, resonated somewhere deep in his soul – so far, in fact, that the Dark Knight had no trouble seizing control. His logical analysis left only one outlet for Bruce to take.

And that was flight.

"Where are you going, Bruce?" It was Dick again, trying to stop him. That incredulous, irritatingly infuriating voice that told him the boy disagreed. If Bruce had even an ounce of strength or willpower left, he would listen to his eldest. Unfortunately, he had none to spare.

"Get out of my way," No real emotions in his voice, just dispassionate animosity. Not towards Dick in particular, but at any obstacle that dared block his path.

"Bruce." Younger now, this voice. Tim. "You can't do this."

"You haven't seen him since he was brought in, Bruce," Dick's face was as weary as he felt.

"Since _I_ brought him in." Bruce said, growing defensive over his decisions.

Tim interrupted the inklings of his mind, continued in an irritating little voice, "And you haven't seen him after that."

"I'm going after the people that put Jason in that bed!" His voice boomed, made a few bats stir from their sleep, and made Tim pause.

Dick, on the other hand, kept pushing. "The Joker is dead."

"Brilliant deduction. Now move." To his surprise, both of them gave way when he shoved. Batman stepped onto the platform to the automobile, quickly climbed in.

"_where we goin' tonight, Big Guy?" _

He closed the door.

"_You know, the East side's been having a lotta trouble with Black Mask, what do ya' say about checking it out?" His smile was so bright, mischief and childish joy resounding in the edges._

He turned the key, listened to the engine roar with life.

"_Batman?"_

He put his foot on the brakes, and then put it in drive.

"_Bruce?"_

He lifted his foot off the brakes; let the car drift forward a bit.

"_Dad?" this time his voice was weak, broken, damaged._

Bruce didn't turn his head, didn't bother imagining the boy's corpse to his right.

He slammed on the acceleration.

…

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Tim asked, fury mixing unevenly with concern and fear.

"It's Bruce, Timmy. Since when has he had the social skills beyond what a walnut is capable of?"

Tim gave him the look, the one that said you were an idiot. "This is different; this takes douchefuckery to a whole new level. What is he thinking?"

"He's thinking that he needs to be away to be close."

"How does that fit into the logical side?"

"That _is_ the logical side."

Tim made a face. "I don't understand it. That means it _can't_ be rational."

Dick stood, moving a few steps away from the Bat computer to ruffle Tim's hair. "Not your brand of analytic thinking. This is his thing; he can't deal with emotion sometimes, so he shuts it down in favor of the familiar. By definition, that is logic."

"That is emotion leading reason."

"Yeah. But it's Bruce."

Tim's face had that perplexed, angry look again. He got up and began to walk upstairs, all the while muttering expletives under his breath – the worst of which was something along the lines of "chucklefuck".

Dick shook his head. He could feel the strings that connected their little family begin to snap, one by one. If he didn't find a way to fix this, to bring Bruce back to the edge, Dick doubted whether they could ever be whole again. He chanced a glimpse in Jason's direction, toward the sterile, white room where all the medical procedures were performed. If he listened hard enough, he could just make out the slow, steady rhythm of the EKG. _At least he's alive_, Dick thought.

"Will he be all right?"

Startled from his thoughts, Dick turned to see Damian lurking in the shadows. _Like father like son, _hethought_._ "What?"

"Will. He. Be. All. Right?" Damian spat, anger swiftly crawling up to cover for the lack of security from only moments ago.

"I hope so," Dick said, coaxing the boy out of the darkness as he spoke.

"I meant Father."

"Me too."

Damian averted his eyes, suddenly finding that the floor was much more interesting. There were shadows clinging to the undersides of his eyes, a clear sign that the child had skipped out on much of his normal sleep schedule.

"What about… the other one?" He asked, his eyes darting for only a moment towards Jason's room.

That was a harder question. "I don't know."

"It wasn't my fault Todd went and fell for that madman's trick! He was an idiot. Stupid. Rotten…"

"I never said it was."

The boy kept going, ignoring Dick's statement, "And just because I was captured first, that doesn't make it my problem."

"No one blames you, Damian."

"I could have fought back, if Jason hadn't gotten in the way!" _Jason_, not _Todd_. It was a start, giving Dick some hope for the future. It wasn't lost on him that Damian had failed to mention Tim in his little tirade either. The older man walked toward the boy, kneeling before him as he approached. They searched for intent in each other's eyes until, at last, one of them broke.

Dick's arms flew out faster than Damian could react, ensnaring the boy in a tight hug. "I don't know what will happen to Jason after this is over, and I don't know what will happen to Bruce. What I do know is that you'll still have us, that you'll still have a home, and that Bruce won't love you any less because of what's happened."

Damian struggled a bit at first but soon his efforts to escape stopped altogether. The boy settled in, laying his head on Dick's chest. He pushed his lips out, solidifying a perfect Bruce-like pout as he spoke, "I'm not worried about him, you know."

Dick couldn't help but smile at the childish answer. For all of his bravado, the boy was still just that, a boy. _So Damian._ "I know, little brother. I know."

…

He was just brushing against the outer wall of consciousness, a feather-light breach that brought with it tides of emotion, shifting along in the rapids. He tried desperately to let go, because holding on felt like trying to take a breath under water, and the feeling of disconnection – the numbness that went along with having an unresponsive body – it was all too surreal. Jason had been injured before. He'd had the wind knocked out of him, he'd fallen several stories and broken more bones than he cared to remember, but this was different. Jason knew there was pain waiting just beyond the bend; he recognized it as clearly as day and night. He realized that if he chose to stay in this place he would go through months of physical therapy, he would fight to regain peak physical capabilities, and he would struggle to find a place in the world. On the other hand, if he left... Jason wasn't exactly sure where he would end up.

Jason didn't know if he liked that.

If he had to guess at a similar process, Jason would say that dying slowly was a lot like drowning. It was an agonizing experience – he should know, a few too many run-ins with pissed off Russians usually ended face-down in the water – but this was something different. Drowning had a similar ring of pain. Air was the first and last thing he would long for, the burning in his lungs screamed for the life-saving gasp of breath. It had barely left him enough time to process the rising paranoia and claustrophobia that the water brought on. Pure instinct, that was all that had mattered then and it was all that mattered now. But, unlike his experiences before, Jason found he wanted to stay submerged. He didn't _want_ the blast of oxygen.

If he were being honest with himself – which was surprisingly rare – Jason would say he was fucking tired. He was exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally. So when the choice came to him, for the second time in his relatively short existence, he had a choice. The first time, Jason had been too weak. The agony of the Joker's attack, the horror of his birthmother's betrayal, and the abandonment he'd felt in those last few moments when Bruce had failed to arrive, it all added up to a no-win situation. To his sixteen-year-old mind there was nothing left but the subtle promise of happiness after death.

This time?

God, he had no fucking clue. What was left? His body reinforced the second choice, death was easier. Too much energy wasted just keeping his heart pumping, hell; Jason could feel it each time the vital organ struggled; It thumped painfully, slowing down and holding on a single beat before jumping to the next, desperately trying to catch up.

His mind, however, tried to push forward reasons to stay alive. What if he could build a life with Bruce, with his brothers? What if he could reclaim his position in the eyes of the League? What if there was something greater out there? Well, that was too many what ifs, and Jason was still tired. The most attractive of those options was the first one – a family. Or at least the possibility of one.

The numbness dragged on as Jason weighed his options, trying to decide whether his spark was ready for extinction. It occurred to him that he was the last in his line as far as blood was concerned. His line would end. The name "Jason Todd" would not show up on any genetic family tree. That was for sure. Willis Todd had no other family, none that were still alive. He had been an abused child that had become abusive and neglectful. Sheila Haywood… She had been an only child. Also neglectful and cruel, but with no real excuse as far as Jason could imagine. It was almost a reason to let go. He wanted his mistakes to die with him, he didn't want his sins to catch up to any children he may ever have. God, _kids_? Jason was reminded of how young he really was, his mind twisting that into a reason to stay alive.

The truth was, Jason had no idea what he was going to do.

Maybe he'd flip a coin.

If, you know, he could actually move. Or had a coin, for that matter.

The scales tipped one way and then the other, but eventually Jason stopped thinking about it. He let himself be pulled under, freefalling into darkness.

…

"_Bruce_."

"I told you to _get off the line_, Nightwing." Bruce was already angry, he didn't need the sing-song voice of his eldest to pipe up now. He could still see the ghost of his second Robin, dancing dangerously at his side once again. It was easy, comfortable to slip into a defensive stance – Bruce's body and mind was so used to protecting and covering a smaller frame. Batman grappled with the larger enemies, blocking attacks to the silhouette.

His fist rose for another blow, striking the thug across the jaw with just enough force to crack the mandible. He was sure Dick could hear the sound over the com, because the boy practically gasped through the link.

"_The hell are you doing?"_

Another crack broke an arm. "what I need to."

"_What about Jason_?"

A growl erupted from his chest, "_This_ is for Jason." The thugs reacted like water, one splash, one punch, and the ripples caused predictable reactions. Move to the left, maximize momentum. Swing one into the other, block. Frontal assault now, let the man to the far right empty his clip into the others. Then sidestep – attack, attack, _attack_.

They were the Joker's men. Emphasis on the past tense. These people had been hired to kidnap and brutalize his boys. First Damian, then Tim, then…

And Jason was hurt.

"_Careful Big Guy…_" The ghost said.

The next blow had more than the calculated weight behind it. The Bat corrected his stance to compensate. He just wanted to stop them, hurt them, but not kill. The image of the Joker flashed in his mind. His punches and jibes sailed through the air gloriously, hitting their targets easily. Maybe he did. He _wanted_ to kill them.

But he couldn't.

"_Dad?_"

He spun around, looking desperately for the source of the sound, fully expecting to see a corpse. But, the phantasm of his Robin was gone. Bruce took barely a moment to recognize the fact, but he did confirm that, yes, the apparition that had been dogging his heels since he had left the Batcave was gone. He turned to block a hit from one of the men.

"_Shit_!"

Dick's voice came through the link, full of panic and fear. Both were unexpected. Bruce's mind drew up another image. One of Jason, staring up at him with unique blue eyes, tired, dying. The blood was still dripping down his face, ugly bruises still forming along his jawline and neck. But relief and acceptance stared at Bruce when their eyes met.

His blows slowed, lost momentum, missed.

"Dick?"

The thugs were running now, but his attention was on Dick. He prayed for the boy to say something, to contradict the horror rising in his chest.

"Son?"

He heard a gulp of air on the other line, "_You had better get back, B. You… you need to be here._"

The link disconnected.

...

When Bruce got out of the car, there was tension in the air, in his shoulders. He practically ran to the medical center. The door opened and his family was there – all except for Damian. His gaze scraped across each person. Dick, sullen and tired standing by the bed, Alfred's hand was on his son's shoulder using the boy to help him stand upright. Tim was sitting in the corner, his head buried between shaking hands.

And Jason…

Jason was pale, the only signs of life coming from the young man being the slight rise and fall of his chest and erratic beeping of the heart rate monitor to his left. The boy's heart rate made slight jumps before dropping down to terrifyingly low levels.

"What happened?"

Dick swallowed slowly, preparing the words in his head. "We don't know."

"He just stopped fighting," Tim whispered.

Bruce stepped further into the room, pain weighing down his steps, making them seem louder to his ears. He shook his head, disbelief clouding his features, "No. Jason never just stops fighting. Never."

"Well he just did!" Dick snapped. The harsh tone to his voice shocked Bruce, made his eyes turn from Jason to Dick. His eldest was harboring such accusation that Bruce felt shame rise in his chest. _I should have been here_, he thought. Dick turned away, lowering his voice. "Alfred doesn't think… he says Jaybird might not make it through the night."

Silence swallowed them up, holding their heads below water as they watched Jason's heart monitor. Each of them was waiting to surface, waiting for that instinctive breath of fresh air, and each wondered if that gulp of oxygen would ever come.

Alfred was the first to break through the barrier. He cleared his throat, leaning more heavily on Dick as a font of strength. "I believe that Jason will need his family… but given his current state I would recommend that we give him some rest. Only one person at a time…" the older man swallowed past the lump in his throat, pain evident on his weathered face.

"Why don't you go first, Al," Dick said before looking pointedly at Bruce. "_Batman_ and I need to have a word."

…

Dick closed the door behind Tim as the family filed out. His knuckles had gone white, and they formed a tight fist after his hold on the door was relinquished. He didn't, however, throw the first punch.

The loud smack of a blow rang out, echoing lightly off the walls of the cave. When Dick looked up, Bruce's face was reddening and Tim was shaking violently. Tim's hair fell across his eyes for a moment before those piercing blue orbs met with Bruce's. "I don't give a _shit_ what you thought you were doing out there, B. I don't _care_ if your morally ambiguous crusade has saved millions." Tim paused, pointing at the older man angrily, "If you fail this family now, if you fail _my brother_, then you have _failed_ in your goddamned mission."

Silence fell on the room, broken intermittently by Tim's ragged breathing.

Dick wasn't sure what scared him about those last few words. Maybe it was how his little brother's voice had sizzled down to a dangerous whisper, maybe it was how Tim had actually spoken out against the boy's idol, or maybe it was the subject matter he found so appalling. Whatever the case, Dick came forward and, forgetting his bitterness for a moment, wrapped an arm around the boy. He led Tim away from their father figure before either one could say something they would regret.

He turned back for only a second to stare at Bruce, to confirm that there was genuine guilt and shame on his features, before his brother and him mounted the steps back to the manor.

…

Alfred Pennyworth was the type of man who knew exactly what was happening in his house at all times. He had known when Dick had come to stay with them that Bruce would become a father in his own way. He had known when Jason had first come that the boy would be a trouble-making and _troubled_ child, but a lovable one at that. He had known when Tim first arrived that the genius would add a spark in Bruce's life – the intellectual challenge that Batman had never really faced. And then Alfred had certainly known a Damian was bound to happen at one point or another. None of it was truly surprising. Bruce, despite the rough exterior, was always meant for fatherhood.

He could clearly hear the anger pouring out of Tim just outside the door, he noted the threats floating in on the air. It was the sound of a breaking family. He recalled Dick saying similar words when the family had lost Jason the first time. The frustration and grief had been the same, Bruce's guilt and despair had been exactly the same. The only difference now was the accuser – Tim now, not Dick. Their family was changing, the dynamic shifting, and the pain leading them in a whole new direction. Alfred had no idea where that blind march would lead them; he only knew that Bruce would be left to shoulder the burden.

Alfred was the type of man that took every new blow with stride. He was the type of figure that took care of his family, physically and emotionally. He offered the ever-necessary first-aid kit. He offered the quick translations that the boys needed in order to even understand Bruce's puzzle of a mind, conversely explaining a child's attitude to the detached father. And for the times when words or stitches were not enough, Alfred was there to offer a tray of baked goods to quell an uneasy situation.

But this?

There was no easy fix. There was no stopping death. The barricade had broken, the dam was failing and the flood was about to sweep them away.

When his boy had come back with the news that Jason had died, they were both broken. Alfred had watched Bruce skulk through the halls, he had watched the young man travel to Jason's old room only to stare at it with pain etched too deeply in his features. True, Jason had always been difficult and sarcastic – he had come from a different world than Bruce; he had come from a much darker world – but Jason had always been bright, quick to think on his feet, and passionate beyond his years about righting the wrongs done to others. And the child born into pain and suffering had become Bruce's child. His son. Part of the Wayne family.

Alfred's weathered eyes traveled to the ceiling in a vain attempt at getting his mind off of what was happening. They could not lose another child, let alone the same one. He moved a shaky hand toward Jason's forehead, he combed the tangled black hair away from the young man's eyes, and he began to cry. Tears slipped down his face as flashes of the past ran through his mind – this boy was his too. Jason had wormed his way into the old man's heart, he had taken his place right next to Bruce and the other boys.

Alfred knew what the young man's death would do to Bruce, but he hadn't quite fathomed exactly how much this would hurt him.

His trembling fingers traveled to Jason's hand and clasped it tightly. "Come back to us, you prince of Gotham." He smiled softly before squeezing the young man's hand and then releasing it.

As he walked out of the room, he could not manage to turn back around. He didn't want to know whether Jason's condition was worsening or not. His hand slid around the door knob and he pulled. He tried not to stare too long at Bruce's sunken features, he tried to wave his son on, and he tried to compose himself before climbing the steps.

…

The hardest part about seeing Jason in that bed was the contrasting visions Bruce had always held of the boy. The characteristics he associated with Jason Todd were strength, an indomitable will, passion, and rage. Everything he did was intense and all-out – he was not the type to leave anything unfinished. But now, now Jason appeared sunken, deathly pale, _vulnerable._ He seemed broken. Not to say that he wasn't before, but he seemed so much worse than the fractured soul he had been before.

Was Batman a coward now?

No matter how hard he tried, Bruce could not martial enough strength of will to even walk toward Jason. He feared something about that bed, about the body lying in it. His heart screamed at him, beating nearly out of his chest with an insistent demand: to run away. If he was away, he couldn't watch someone he loved die before him again.

Clouded blue eyes could see only his mother and father, hands clasped amidst the blood.

Tears slipped past his cool façade. He was falling to the ground before he could even realize what was happening. His knees bore the brunt of the collapse, but the world fell more heavily upon his shoulders. The cowl fell away from his face, chin pointing heavenward. Bruce found himself doing something he had never done before; he prayed. He didn't know to which deity he implored, whether he or she was listening or not, or even why the words slipped past his barriers and flooded out of his cracked lips. "Please. Please, let my son live. Save him… My sins are my own; Jason can't pay for them anymore."

Pain overwhelmed him – a tide carrying him out to sea. The tears fell more freely now, right down his face as he repeated his words again and again. They became his mantra; he internalized them at some point, though he couldn't guess when. The figure on the bed was all too still, and Bruce would have given anything to see him stir, to see a sign that Jason was still in there somewhere.

But the boy was still. Carried along by the waves of respiration, declining as the hours passed and he headed for shore. Soon Jason's life would crash upon the rocks, and Bruce feared that moment. He feared it with all the passion that he longed to see in Jason's eyes right now. The overwhelming need to leave the room came again, but still he stayed. Waiting in silent vigilance, Bruce watched the monitor, expecting a change.

No, not expecting, he was only hoping. Forcing his dreams to become reality.

The father in him cried out, closed his eyes. There in his mind, Bruce could picture it: Jason waking with a shaky intake of breath. He longed to see those eyes opening to the world, shining in their brilliance, turning to meet Bruce's desperate gaze. He wanted to see Jason alive.

Words from his past came to him, "_you're destined for something better, Jason_."

"_I'm destined to die gloriously." _The boy in the Robin costume had responded, smiling a beautiful little smile. "_Kids like me can't hope for anything better than that._"

Bruce smiled, despite himself, remembering those days.

In so many ways, Jason had been and always would be the boy with the tire iron. He would always be the little brat that was always so endearing. The kid that was broken in so many ways, yet still managed to put on a crooked smile. He was the kid that made life frustrating and worthwhile. The living paradox. The stranger that had become his son.

Bruce supposed that was how all children began. They were strangers that one day surprised you with love and affection, the type of emotional ties that couldn't be broken – no matter how hard either party tried. Jason had been hurt too many times; had been betrayed so often as a child, that trust was something he gave out sparingly. But Jason had trusted Bruce once, and the display from the other night had proven that their bond was still present. Buried, certainly, but not gone.

"Come back, Jason. We can work at this. We can build something here, here in Gotham. But you have to meet me half way, son. Please. Come back." The words felt full of despair, full of pain and dangerous emotions. The absence of logic or hard analysis was odd even to his ears, and he hoped the words would be enough to drag Jason back to his world.

The young man lay frozen, unable or unwilling to move. And Bruce's heart won out. The weary man stood slowly. Bruce opened the door and walked out.

He missed the shaking hand.

He missed the sign he had prayed for.

…

The sky was beautiful. The clouds floated like on like buoys and the sun was all too bright for his weary eyes. Strange. The soothing vision of the world above blurred every so often – like a sheet being moved, tugged off the bed. Jason ignored it, favoring the sensation of falling and the wonder of watching the world fly away. He could hear things, small parcels of information reaching for his ears with tentative fingers. Casual words, things like "prince," or "Gotham," maybe "sins" once. Everything was disconnected though, like some garbled message you get when you've got shitty reception. The words were spoken aloud, but they were out of context.

Jason didn't care.

Every time he tried to grasp the sentences, the idyllic sun above him would blur. The clouds rolled closer to darken the world, and the last thing Jason wanted right now was darkness. His heart felt slow in his chest, like each individual contraction took effort. He tried to concentrate on it, but then the sky would shake and he just couldn't focus any longer.

"The words mean you're not alone," The voice whispered in his ear.

He recognized the voice – his mother. The real one, Catherine Todd. Most of his memories of her had been tainted by drugs and addiction. But it hadn't always been like that. When she had been sober, before Willis Todd had left, Catherine had been a loving, devoted parent. She would hold him when he was afraid, whisper a lullaby in his ear during bad storms when the roof was leaking and Willis was out getting drunk or high out of his mind. Those memories came to him, encompassed him in a warm embrace. Yes, he would recognize her raspy voice anywhere, he had dreamed of her enough to keep his tenuous grasp on the sound. He never wanted to lose it completely, even if it took a nightmare to hold on to it.

"…_Son…"_

Jason's eyes became wild, spreading open wider for a different voice. Jason found he couldn't speak, that there was no air here. Maybe he didn't need it. But he tried to respond to that voice. The one and only person besides himself that Jason Todd would kill for. The only person, living or dead, that Jason would die for.

Death?

When had that ceased to be an issue?

For the first time, Jason tried to move. He twisted his head, testing his limbs only to find them unresponsive.

"You don't need to fight anymore, love." Catherine again, but farther away now.

Jason felt lightheaded, disembodied and sluggish. The sky cracked. It was breaking. Or was that lightning?

But then he could see something, there on the edge of the world – a figure. Bruce, knees to the ground, head tilted back in a pleading gesture. Jason's heart clenched, renewing its struggle. But Bruce was leaving, the man rose, he did not look at Jason, he only vanished from sight.

_Don't go. I want you to stay here, with me. Jason's thoughts echoed on forever._

He closed his eyes, unable to stand the raging storm above. The calm returned and Jason forgot why he had been agitated. The words faded from memory, and Catherine's arms were around him. His mother was here with him.

"My baby boy. You don't need the pain anymore."

He didn't need it. Pain was _his _demon, Jason could claim the creature as his own. It had been present throughout his lifetime, ever present in every struggle he had faced, every betrayal of trust, every death – even his own. Yes, Jason was intimately aware of agony. It was part of the reason he had always fought so hard against injustice. Because, on some level, Jason felt it too. He felt the broken hearts, the grief-stricken bystanders, and the violated spirits that crouched in the pits of Gotham and the rest of the world. Every defeat felt personal, a wrong that had never been set right – a scar that had never quite healed.

In death Jason had found some peace, though that had opened doors to different hells. New demons had arisen to replace the old.

When Jason had been resurrected, he had felt wholly alone, like he was the disconnected piece that couldn't find its place. Hell, he wondered if there was a place to be found – or if Jason Todd was just a piece of the sky that could easily be replaced by another. He was too tired to ponder it, and his mother's arms felt safe and warm.

No, he didn't want to think about his past anymore. There was too much back there.

Right now he wanted to fall, not think.

The world was calm again.

…

"You know, I never hated you." Dick's hand clasped Jason's, the older man feeling the absolute lack of tension. "Yeah, there was this huge pissing contest between Bruce and me. Yeah, you were in the middle a lot, but I want you to know I always kinda admired you. At some point – and I couldn't tell you exactly when – I stopped seeing you as 'that new kid' and started seeing you as my little brother." He took a moment, searching Jason's face for signs of life. He found none and continued, "You could be reckless sometimes. You could be abrasive. But you always had passion."

Dick laughed, holding Jason's hand a little tighter. As a Robin, Jason had been so different from him. He had been brilliant in ways that Dick could never be, weaving his way into the minds of criminals and anticipating their moves… That was something Jason excelled at. Whereas Dick had been the trueborn leader, Jason had been the strategist. In a lot of ways, Dick would never come close to Jason in that respect. The little brother Dick had never wanted, and he had bested him in that respect. The boy that was always just one step away from becoming the most dangerous and cunning villain the Bat family would ever face, was the same boy that could easily become a powerful force for good.

Dick smiled at his brother. To him, Jason would still always be Jason. "You are my brother and I love you, you know that, right? So just… just come back to us. I'm not gonna cry at your funeral, kid." He took a shaky breath trying even now to lighten the situation, "I've been there and I've done that."

The heart monitor remained steady and Dick took that as a good sign. It wasn't declining and that was a victory in and of itself.

"I'm gonna leave now, all right? Tim wanted a chance to say something to you. I don't want him to miss out. I…" Dick sucked in another breath to keep himself afloat. "I love you lil' bro."

He stood in one swift motion. There was no grace in the movement, no theatrics in his step. It took every ounce of strength he had to walk calmly – and he only did that with the help and balance of Jason's bed.

The door was an obstacle and he pushed through it.

When the handle shut behind him, he looked up from the ground. "You… Better hurry up, Timmy. He… He doesn't look…" Dick couldn't find the words, so he stopped talking and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He walked toward Alfred, seeking the reassuring comfort of the old man's presence.

He wasn't let down.

Alfred's arm curved around his shoulders and Dick felt at peace. His mind flitted away and he focused wholeheartedly on nothing at all.

…

Tim's body was more than ready to fall apart. His eyes were drooping, his mind slow and soggy, his face red. He didn't fall apart though. He walked to the bed. The bed where Jason Todd was slowly slipping away. He didn't touch the wounded bird, found he hadn't the strength to hold the young man's hand. Instead, he started rambling, like he always did when he felt distressed. "Hey."

"This is where you respond with your customary and very, very grouchy 'the hell do you want' and maybe add in a few names like 'Replacement,' or 'Little Shit.'" Tim smiled, remembering Jason's demeanor. "The point is, you're supposed to respond. I'm… well, I guess I'm your little brother and you're supposed to be an ass to me. So, let's have it tough guy."

Jason's heart monitor continued to beep, the rhythm calming and subtle like the rock of the ocean. "You know how I am with patterns. Everything has its place. Well, right now you're screwing up my pattern. You should have woken up by now. Told us you were okay. Smiled… no, _screamed_ at us for hovering."

No response.

"I'm willing to forgive the delayed response. If you just… if you just wake up now. I mean. I can wait, it'd just make my point a lot easier to defend if you just opened your eyes now."

Tim gulped painfully, a lump taking form – he almost couldn't talk around it. "Please? Jason. I'm sorry. But you can't stay wherever it is that you are. You have to come back."

The monitor mocked him now. It beeped rhythmically like that damned cricket chirp you hear late at night when all you want to do is sleep. You can't though because it just keeps beeping, to remind you that the day was _real_. Everything that had happened that day, as painful and hard to accept as it was, concluded with the insistent thrum against your windowsill; the cricket outside letting you know that rest will not solve your problems. Just like talking aloud, rambling on like an idiot, would never bring Jason out of it.

But Tim had to try.

Because for all his genius, for all his training, he hadn't been good enough to stop this fatal train from smashing through their lives.

"I'm sorry."

Tears fell down his cheek, tracing a perfect line along his jawline and down to the floor below. "I know it's my fault you were hurt. You were only trying to help me and I'm so, so sorry. Please don't hurt Alfred and Dick and Damian like this, though. Please. They don't deserve it. They need you. We're brothers… please…"

Tim lost track of what he said after that, a steady mantra building in his head. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry…_

Eventually, though, there was a knock at the door. Alfred was there, picking up the pieces as usual. He helped Tim stand when the boy didn't think he could do it on his own. He ushered the last member of the family in to see Jason.

Damian.

…

"Todd." The boy gulped uncomfortably, rubbing unconsciously at his injured side. "While no person can ever have blood stronger than the Al Ghul's or the Wayne's… Well, you are honorable."

Damian shifted nervously, looking at the young man's hair. "You are not allowed to die. Understand? I have a debt to pay to you and the Al Ghul's always settle their debts."

His eyes fell to Jason's eyebrows. "It's not that I _care_. It's just that… Drake would be inconsolable if you die. He's very emotional."

The boy's eyes traced the dark circles under Jason's eyes. "I don't know what more you expect for me to say."

This is the man that saved him. The man that is now dying. Damian sighed. As much as the boy didn't want to admit it… he was beginning to respect this man. Jason held qualities that Mother had. Strength, compassion, a willingness to sacrifice everything.

Damian had never really experienced life in the way Jason had. The young boy tried almost desperately to compare this situation to the things he had experienced before. He tried to relate Jason's words, actions, and circumstance to the things in Damian's life. He found in the end that he couldn't understand. Knowing what he did about Jason, Damian could not say with certainty why the older boy had done what he did.

Perhaps it was a quality passed on from Father.

Damian recalled his position in the warehouse – his vulnerability, really – and he honestly knew that his mother would have left him to his fate. She would have called him weak, scolded him for being trapped to begin with. Yes, he knew the exact face she would make. Talia would stare at him with disgust.

Bruce would not.

No. Damian's father would stop at nothing to protect the ones he holds dear. Perhaps because he was so afraid of losing them.

And that was it, the quality that separated his mother from his father – their essential thoughts on the measure of one life. Perhaps having an immortal father had warped Talia's vision, made her think human life was dispensable or otherwise replaceable. Conversely, witnessing the murder of his parents had taught Bruce to hold life as a very dear commodity. With only these two contrasting visions, Damian had never known which was true. Originally, he had fully believed that life was a gift only to the worthy, the ones that survived deserved existence. However, when the boy had arrived in Gotham, that image had begun to change. Bruce had taught him that fighting for the weak, protecting them when they could not defend themselves, was what made you strong, what made a life worth living.

Jason had proven he believed the latter and Damian could do nothing but agree.

All of a sudden, Damian found that he _wanted_ to know who Jason was. The boy wanted to call this one "brother." Jason was the first to be considered for such a role. Grayson didn't count. Damian's eyes traveled to Jason's closed ones.

"I demand that you return, Todd… _Jason_."

Damian had nothing left to say, no thoughts or expressions left in him. So he left.

…

He found it curious that his heart was still beating. Air was usually necessary for a person to hold a steady heartbeat, and Jason was reasonably sure he was _not_ breathing. On some level he was aware that that couldn't possibly be a good thing, but the ever-present tug of Catherine's voice held him to his course. Though he could never tell where exactly he was headed…

The world above moved again, a shift that left him staring up at Dick. Then Tim. Then Damian.

No.

What was wrong with them? Their faces were blurred, but emotion rolled off of them like waves reaching down to Jason uncontrollably. He could no longer hear their words, he had given up on that sense a long time ago, but the thought breached his bubble, the horrible thought that had Jason reaching for his control. They could be hurt. The people he had worked so hard at saving, protecting, could be injured. The world around him became unsteady, rocking beneath the weight of his conviction.

"Baby, calm down." Catherine's words came again, but they were not comforting now, they were commanding. Jason struggled harder, pushing his way past all the barriers he hadn't realized he was creating.

Though his body still felt like lead, he was moving. A hand at first, a hand that curved into a determined fist. Then the other. Then his feet.

Jason couldn't fully comprehend how this had become so difficult, why there was no air, no pain until he moved. But then he saw it. One shift of his hand, and the world above blurred into motion. It explained why the faces of his family had been strangely distorted. It explained why he couldn't breathe. His mind supplied him with the word he searched for:

_Water_

God, he wasn't floating. He _was_ _drowning._

Jason tried to block out the feeling of claustrophobia that filled his chest. He ignored the fear and the instinctive demand that he take a breath. _Not yet, Jay. Try to breathe now and you _will _be dead. _

He was fighting now. Now that he understood what was happening, he was willing to battle the odds – just like he always did. The arms around him clutched him harder, the mouth at his ear whispered dangerous half-truths, but Jason disregarded both. On the surface, Bruce had reappeared. His hand was outstretched, calling Jason back.

His mother's arms let him go, but they were quickly replaced with agony. Jason wanted to gasp aloud at the wave of pain that hit him like a brick wall, but he didn't. He had to remind himself that if he took in water now, he would die. So, despite the burning sensation in his lungs and despite the wild instincts that demanded his resignation, Jason pushed himself upwards. His limbs were still clumsy and sluggish, but Jason forced them to move, to swim. _Come on, Jay_.

_Move._

…

Bruce was silent; he couldn't force words out his mouth. If he was being honest, he would say that there were no more words left in the world to sum up his feelings, his emotions. To say that he was overwhelmed would be too easy.

After Damian had surfaced from the room looking despondent and tired, Alfred had ushered Bruce to the door, warning him that it could be his last chance. _Last chance_. The words had left an echo in his mind, reverberating back like a ripple in the water. Jason didn't have much time and Bruce needed to be close to him. If he couldn't offer any final words, the least he could do was hold the boy's hand.

So he crossed the space between them with practiced power of will.

He didn't want to get too close, but this was something he had to do. He had to reach out to Jason. Had to hold onto his son while the boy was still close. _His mind is probably long gone_, Batman's mind reminded. _Possibly, but I'm still here and so is his body_. Now he felt ridiculous. Here Jason was dying and Bruce still found time to offer a retort to his alter ego.

Bruce opened his mouth to comment, but found, again, that no words came to mind.

His hand clasped the cold one on the bed.

He knew nearly every word in the English language. His lexicon of foreign words was present too. Russian, German, Italian, French, Chinese, Japanese… He could think of several he _could_ say, but each seemed insufficient.

Then it came to him.

Jason had trained in Russia, had fought some of his hardest battles there. He'd gained friends, mentors, alliances and lost them. So, when Bruce finally said something, it was in Russian. "драться_" _

…

"драться"

The word reached him through the muddled layers of water above him. Bruce was reminding him. His father was still up there. The thought made Jason swim faster, push harder. He knew what he wanted, and right now, that was Bruce. His father.

_Fight_, the word meant _fight_ in Russian. Those years in Russia had been hell. They had trained him in the ways of life beyond what Bruce had been able to provide. Jason had honed his skills, gained new ones, and struggled against the odds. Russia was the one place where Jason had been both completely alone and enthralled with life. The first time he had set foot on Russian soil had been when he was just fresh from the All Caste. Talia had sent him, expecting an easy test. To be honest, Jason had been in wonder at the architecture he found there. He had been fascinated by the sudden blizzards in winter – something he had never experienced in the dank streets of Gotham. In a lot of ways, that state had been his first home. The first place that Jason could call his own, a place untouched by the soiled memories of Bruce's apparent betrayal.

The whole idea was laughable, really.

Russian was his worst language to speak, yet it had been his best home.

Beyond the mansion.

The water tugged at him, calling him back to the depths with the open arms of his mother. But on the other side of the struggle, if Jason just looked beyond Bruce… A new hope emerged, a new purpose. Jason strived for it; he pushed harder than he had before. Relinquishing his hold on what lie below, the young man broke the surface and took firm hold of his father's outstretched hand.

And that first breath – the breath his body had been screaming for – was glorious.

…

Bruce thought he was dreaming when he saw it, felt it, heard it. All of a sudden, Jason moved.

The hand that was held loosely within Bruce's own contracted. Jason took a shuddering breath, a great gasp that quickened the steady beep of the heart rate monitor.

"Jason?" The young man's hand shook, holding onto Bruce's more tightly.

And that's when he knew that Jason was going to pull through.


End file.
